A Hunter's Life
by SonofBhaal
Summary: The story of a Hunter searching for old friends and a better life. Rated T for quick descriptions of gore and language.
1. Chapter 1

_**I don't own L4D. Yet. My friend wondered what the Hunter's POV would be like, and that eventually turned into this.**_

_**Author's Note: **__Light italics are character thoughts. __**Got that?**_

The Hunter brought the razor-sharp claws granted to it by the Infection down onto … a pack of hamburgers. The packet tore with almost no pressure, and the Hunter grabbed one and threw it onto the nearby grill, activating it as the hamburger fell.

_What?_

_Simple. You grill the food to avoid getting … salmonella. If it weren't a disease, it'd be a good name for a cat._

_Grill?_

_Yes, a grill._

_Grill?_

_The thing in front of us._

_Grill._

_Yes, grill._

The words between Hunter and human mind didn't really matter. It was the emotions behind the words. The Hunter wasn't smart enough to understand most of the conversation or, God forbid, talk in complete sentences. It was learning to associate words and images.

_Eat?_

_Of course, my friend. This grill will cook the burger to perfection, and we should have enough to last the evening._

_Eat._

With that final statement, the Hunter's mind released happy endorphins. The human mind felt them too. The Hunter's personality was dominant, but treated the human as the decision-maker. Unfortunately, the Hunter got to taste the tastes, smell the scents that filled the city, and control the body most of the time. The human got the eyes and control of the body some of the time. The Hunter used echolocation and didn't rely on eyes anyway.

The Hunter, dressed in black cargo pants, a grey work shirt, and a grey leather jacket, hardly blended in with the others. Kevlar wasn't easily available, so a leather jacket was the next best thing for taking bullets and blades. The Hunter didn't like the jacket because of the weight, but after he showed it how it was useful, the Hunter had practically demanded it. Besides, if the Hunter ultimately decided the extra protection wasn't worth the tradeoff, it could always dump the jacket in the lair.

_Food finished?_

_Very good, my friend. The food is finished._

The Hunter felt pride at figuring it out. The human was absorbed in the past and future, and the Hunter thought only of the present.

The Hunter turned the grill off, inhaling the scent of well-done burger. The Hunter would have preferred rare, but well-done would do.

In seconds, the burger was finished, and the Hunter felt a pang of disappointment.

Then a gigantic explosion went off. The Hunter turned and saw the explosion and residue, maybe two or three miles away.

_Fresh food._

_Yes, I suppose it is. Now, don't …_

The Hunter leaped over the fencing toward the commotion, screeching happily as it leapt.

_No screeching!_

_Screech?_

_Yelling._

_Yell?_

_Quiet!_

The Hunter knew the meaning of quiet, having been told several times, and stopped.

_Why no screeching?_

It was the first time the Hunter had actually asked why. Before this, when told to stop, it simply did.

_They rely on it. No screeching, more unaware prey to eat._

_More food?_

_Yes. More food for the two of us._

The Hunter leaped, hardly going as far as it had been.

_Drop the jacket._

The Hunter had probably been waiting for command, tearing the jacket off as quickly as possible while leaping through the air.

Nothing compared to leaping about, almost as free as a bird. The crowds of Infected below tore into each other if they got too hungry, and fellow Hunters were all too eager to massacre their own, simply to reduce the competition. But that was only a problem if you stayed down too long.

The Infected had an aristocracy, if one could call it that. The human mind chuckled at the thought. Infected being civilized enough to realize their superiors. Then again, what could he expect? The Infected weren't like vampires in the movies he liked; they were more like the zombies in movies Zoey loved. The Infected were like the 28 Days Later zombies.

_Zombies?_

_Us, my friend._

_Infected zombies?_

_I suppose so. I must admit, I'm impressed by the level of sophistication you've reached._

The Hunter remained silent and concentrated on leaping toward the sound.

_Stop. Run with the commoners._

The Hunter knew what the human meant. Jog with the common Infected. Too many Hunters already leaping toward the disturbance meant the survivors would be very aware of the problems.

_Improvising will get us food, my friend. Just watch and learn._

The Hunter watched as his brethren leaped far faster than the commoners ran, and heard guns and swearing up ahead. The Hunter could his brethren dying quickly. The survivors were armed to the teeth. Assault rifles, hunting rifles, maybe a minigun somewhere.

The Hunter stopped and sniffed the air, ignoring the Infected shoving their way past him. There was a cocktail of chemicals up ahead. The survivors must have had Kevlar they had forgotten to wash. It may have stopped bullets, but it stank to high hell and made him thankful for leather.

The ground beneath the Hunter began to rumble.

_Tank?_

_Jump already!_

The Hunter jumped toward a wooden fence, dodging a Tank that seemed eager to bat other Infected out of its way.

_Hide! Run!_

_From a Tank? You must be joking._

_Hide!_

_Relax. We're over here, and the Tank …_

The human mind swallowed his words as a piece of concrete sailed through the air. The Hunter ducked seconds before the concrete knocked down most of the fence. They were close to the survivors. If the Hunter wanted to kill the Tank, he'd have to beat the survivors to it.

_Kill?_

_The Tank? How are we going to do that?_

"Get some! Get some!" one of the survivors shouted. It was a petite blonde girl with a hunting rifle. She clearly wasn't used to taunting Infected, and was being encouraged by the others.

_Pounce, pounce, pounce!_

_No. Wait for the others, and once they're distracted, we pounce._

The other survivors just noticed the tank, and everybody started firing at it. The Tank provided the perfect opportunity.

_Now!_

The Hunter crouched, using the common Infected as a wall, and leapt toward the survivor covered in Kevlar.

_Look at the eyes._

The Hunter concentrated on the survivor. The survivor's green eyes silently pleaded for mercy. He probably had been called from his native city to deal with the Infected, and had a wife and family waiting for him.

But the primal instincts weren't concerned with it. The claws had difficult time with Kevlar, but it tore open after a few seconds of struggle. The other survivors hadn't even noticed. The Tank was still taking most of their firepower, but it had been seriously wounded.

The survivor screamed as the Hunter ripped open his stomach. The other survivors couldn't hear over the screaming of Infected being shot to death.

Concrete flew over the Hunter's head and obliterated a survivor, crushing him against a sedan. The car alarm only attracted more Infected.

The Tank's dying cries alerted the Hunter, and he stopped ripping the survivor. It was time to leave while he could. He'd gotten enough of a meal, anyway. Fresh blood stained his teeth now. The common Infected were dying by the dozen, thanks to a minigun, and the Hunter had no intention of dying with them. The Hunter ran for dear life, which seemed even more precious when fellow Infected were dying all around you.

_**Author's Notes: I will give the Hunter a name. Eventually. Suggestions for the story are appreciated.**_


	2. Chapter 2

The Hunter ran, feeling the heat as bullets flew past him and blood splattered him. The rest of the common Infected were suicidal, apparently. Fifteen commoners killed in five seconds. The survivor assisting the blonde had good aim. Five seconds had sufficed, and the Hunter was around the corner, safe from the minigun.

Tracking the remaining survivors was a tempting choice, but with only two of them, he would end up fighting over scraps.

_Ah, well. Back to hamburgers and survival for another day._

_Survival?_

_You know what I mean. Avoid Tanks, let others have scraps, and scavenge when you can._

_Scavenge?_

_Take what you need from others who have no use for it. Right up there with 'do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law' as the rules right now. The apocalypse may have downsides, but I'm determined to make the best of it._

The Hunter poked his face around the corner and sniffed. The survivors were far ahead, sprinting toward the next safehouse. Perhaps they were tougher than he thought.

The Hunter crept forward, ready to pounce should a survivor appear. It was a custom to loot the bodies of the fallen. This could have solved the food problem, but the Hunter was picky. The human mind had no problem chewing around the buckshot and calling it a meal, but the Hunter demanded the food be warm, and preferably bloody.

The survivor's body ought to have something interesting. The Hunter crept toward the survivor whose stomach he'd torn open and inspected for something useful. Pump shotgun and a pistol. He had some nice combat boots, too. The Kevlar was next to useless, though. The Hunter quickly reached a claw inside the man's stomach. It was warm and bloody, and the Hunter rejoiced at the change from the cold breezes that it ordinarily felt.

_You will wash that off._

The Hunter hissed with displeasure and hurried with the scavenging. It grabbed the pistol and combat boots and threw them in the backpack before noticing something shiny. It looked like a police badge and ID. The Hunter eagerly reached for the shiny badge covered only slightly in blood and then for the ID.

_Leave it. What are we going to do with that? We're obviously not him._

The Hunter left the ID, but the human saw it and read it. Sergeant Craig Ridgeway. It was always good to have a name to attach to somebody. Even if they were dead.

_Now, we head back to the lair. We can go back to the backyard and take the hamburgers if you want._

_Hamburgers!_

_Yes, I share your enthusiasm. Now, are we going?_

The Hunter started sprinting toward the backyard. No Tanks or Infected were around to get in the way, and it was easily reached by leaping over the fence and onto the porch.

_Hamburgers?_

The Hunter sniffed the air, expecting the scent of burger. There was nothing like that at all.

_Keep searching. The breeze keeps throwing us off._

It continued the search. No hamburgers, although the scent of rotting fruit was terribly strong.

_Peaches?_

_Yes. But there are no peach trees nearby._

The Hunter was on the alert. The smell seemed to coming closer and closer.

_Run!_

_Wait!_

Whatever was causing the smell was directly behind them. The Hunter pivoted and dodged a steak knife wielded by a little girl who couldn't have been more than nine. She was desperate and crying, apparently well aware of the fact that she had no chance. Her swinging showed it. No thought was put into defense, only into attacking. The Hunter easily dodged, grabbed the knife with the tip of the claws, and threw it over the grill. The girl fell into the fetal position and broke down into full-blown sobs. Her tears and shaking did nothing to diminish the smell of rotten peaches.

_Hamburger?_

_Can't you think of anything else? And no, we're not eating her._

_Eat?_

_She's too small to make a good meal, anyway._

_But food!_

_There will be more food. For now, let's head back to the lair. Plenty of food there._

_Bad food._

_Drinking coffee and soda won't kill you._

The Hunter grumbled discontentedly, but eventually offered the hand that wasn't covered in blood to the girl, who had stopped crying and stared at the Hunter. She declined, and lapsed back into sobs.

The Hunter shrugged, stepped over her, and started making his way toward the lair. It was at the Hunter's old college dorm from the old days. The days where all he had to worry about were college exams and what movie to watch next.

The Hunter ran in the streets before deciding to jump there. It was an exhilarating feeling, leaping distances that shamed Olympians. It was pretty close to flying, and the Hunter reached the college within minutes.

It was just as it had been days ago. The Hunter still remembered how all this had started. He strode into south campus, being only a sophomore in college. He ran toward his dorm, and instead of having to shove his way through other students, the hallway was clear. He opened the door and looked around.

Everything seemed perfect. He walked toward the TV, ignoring the DVD cases of Dracula and Carmilla scattered nearby. He sat down and sighed, remembering the day it had happened.

It had been an ordinary day. He'd woken up from half an hour of sleep after an all-night zombie movie session. Zombieland, Day of the Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Zombie Strippers, and lastly Shaun of the Dead, all but one of them borrowed from his old roommate Zoey. He promised to return the movies the day after he finished, but he hadn't been able to find her. She was probably having the time of her life right now. He'd made breakfast, remembered exams were today, got dressed, sprayed himself with some cologne, and came in. Exams had been pushed back. He'd had a pretty big headache, but he chalked it up to too many movies and two-day-old coffee. He attended the rest of his classes until biology. His nose started bleeding heavily, and he'd gotten the rest of the day off. Eventually, he started feeling worse. His fingers ached and bled under his nails, his feet were the same as his hands, and the headache intensified. His new roommate walked in, and he snapped at her. She quickly left, and he just got more aggressive. He started smashing glasses, plates, anything that made a satisfying noise when shattered.

His roommate came in again about half an hour later, and he really snapped. She'd walked into the kitchen as if she owned it, and he charged in blindly, prepared to beat her to a pulp. He didn't suspect she knew martial arts and that she'd smash his skull on the kitchen counters.

He awoke in a mental asylum, locked up in a strait-jacket. His hands had turned to claws by then, and the claws were sharp enough to slice through. Enough scraping eventually freed him, and he discovered his leg strength had increased. He could have bounced off the walls, literally. Despite the changes, he still felt intense pain. He wanted to jump and claw. The Hunter mind inside him had taken charge, and for the next five hours the human mind had sat through the pain. It was the most intense thing he'd ever experienced, drowning out pretty much everything else. Eventually, he'd fall unconscious, only to be startled back into reality by it. It eventually stopped, and he realized he'd forgotten everything. The past few days and important things had come back to him, but he didn't care enough to pursue anything else. He was still in pain, and he was starving on top of it. Eventually, the door had been shattered by a Tank, and the Hunter had bounded out. The next day had been a blur. The Hunter mind undoubtedly remembered it all, but it didn't matter. They'd achieved a partnership, and it was going to stay that way. Human ruthlessness and Hunter predation had kept them alive this far.

He reclined, and then remembered to store the pistols. He had three of them, including the one he'd snatched from his most recent kill. One was his own, a gift from somebody, and the other had been found in the asylum. He had a pair of leather gloves that kept his claws comfortable and mostly harmless if he wanted to do something like scratch his nose without ripping his face off, a medkit for bullet wounds, and the new combat boots for jumping. The combat boots were in beautiful condition, and perfect for rebounding off walls.

The Hunter tried vainly to remember life weeks before the Infection hit. Life was probably a far more pleasant time before it.

_Screw what happened before. Let's try to remember our name, shall we?_

_Name?_

_You've got to be kidding me. What do we call each other?_

_Hunter?_

_We are, but we have identities, you know. You're you, and I'm me. So who am I?_

_Hunter._

The human mind sighed. A new name was in order. Something that should represent him fully. He stalked into the bathroom and looked at himself.

His black hair was ruffled by the wind, his skin was deathly pale from blood loss, his grey clothing was streaked with blood and torn in places, and his grey eyes seemed devoid of life. He would have scared himself if he hadn't mentally prepared himself for the worse. It could have been worse. One of his claws was still soaked in gore. He turned on the sink and gently washed it while ignoring mild protests from the Hunter's mind. Combat boots seemed out of place considering he had a work shirt and cargo pants.

He'd always wanted to be a vampire. The life of a blood-drinking, super fast, super strong, immortal being appealed to him. Well, he'd gotten most of it. Now, what could was a good name for a wannabe vampire Hunter who lost his memory and devoted himself to this life fully?

_What do you think?_

_Hunter._

He couldn't call himself Hunter. It was the name of his species. He was determined to survive and become the best he could be in this life. The best of the best. He was a Hunter, and it was all he knew for the moment.

_Theron. I will be Theron._

_Hunter?_

_Yes._

_**Author's Note: Theron translates to Hunter in Greek. Also, **__**Zombie Strippers**__** is a real movie. No, I'm serious. If you're interested in that kind of thing, check out **__**Strippers Vs. Zombies.**_


	3. Chapter 3

Theron strode out the dorm, both minds disappointed by the lack of edible food within. He had hoped his old dorm would have something edible, but there hadn't been anything here, or in the next few dorms.

_So, do you have any plans?_

_Plans?_

_What are we going to do?_

_Hunt._

_Where? The campus is empty. Where should we hunt?_

The Hunter's mind had no idea where to hunt. Then it recalled food from earlier.

_Hamburgers!_

_You're really determined to go back?_

_Hamburgers._

_Yes, but what happens if the girl brought friends?_

_Hamburgers._

_Fine. Let's go._

After attempting to reason with the Hunter mind, Theron ran out the front entrance to the campus. The route to the backyard was still fresh in his mind. It would take a few pounces, and if there were any hamburgers left, he could grill them. If a survivor tried to kill him, he could eat them instead. He wondered what had stopped him from killing the little girl from earlier. Was it a conscience? In the week he'd been Infected, he had no problem killing survivors and other Infected slowly and painfully, but he didn't want to harm her. He quickly vowed if she tried anything, he'd kill her this time. Innocence had no place in his world. Had it ever had a place?

After he pounced some more across abandoned buildings, he'd finally made it to the backyard where he encountered her. He sniffed the air, taking no chances.

People were definitely hiding here. The girl from earlier was behind an overturned bench and still smelled strongly of rotten fruit, and could barely detect a hint of lavender from behind a tree nearby due to the strong odor.

Theron smiled. The smell of lavender reminded him of something pleasant. His memory didn't provide any answers as to why, but he still liked it.

_Prey?_

_It would appear so. It looks like a badly set trap. They were expecting us._

_Sneak?_

_Yes, but be careful. If we get caught, they'll shoot to kill._

Theron crept quietly around the tree toward the bench, using other overturned objects as cover. Once he got closer, he couldn't smell the lavender over the rotting peaches. The tree was in front of the bench, so if he killed the girl quickly, he would have ample time to murder whoever smelled like lavender. He crept to the side, making sure nobody near the tree could view him and vice versa. He crept up toward the bench. The moment he turned the corner, he would have fresh meat. He got his claws ready, sprang around the corner, and struck.

His claw punched loudly through a wooden barrel containing rotten peaches and heard something snap and crush his hand. Theron hissed and attempted to tug his hand out. Whatever was inside had got him stuck.

_Damn!_

_What?_

_It was a trap! If I were them, I'd …_

Theron didn't manage to finish before a hunting rifle bullet ripped through his elbow, rendering his arm essentially useless as his nerves were cut. He let out a howl before dropping low. The bench offered minimal protection. It was made of old splintered wood and wouldn't hold up against too many bullets.

Another shot ripped through the bench, missing Theron's head by inches. Another followed and nicked Theron's ear.

_Run!_

Just like that, Theron managed to drag and himself and the barrel along. Whoever had the rifle was a crack shot and managed to nick Theron's neck as he ran toward the fence.

_Just a few more steps …_

The next bullet cut open the top of his head as he ran, causing him to fall forward and feel blood cover his hair.

_Play dead. Don't move._

Within seconds, the girl from before and another girl who was probably her sister came from the house and ran over to check on him. Theron was kicked over roughly, and the older girl looked directly into his eyes. She was paler than her sister, was a brunette, had stunning green eyes, and was probably a young teenager. She also kept prodding him with a pistol as if she wasn't sure he was dead.

"Think he's dead, sis?" she asked the younger girl.

The little girl wordlessly looked into Theron's eyes and nodded. The sisters left his body where it was and ran back into the house.

Theron waited. If the girls were going to come back out and found him still alive, he would be shot at close range. He slowly attempted to pull his arm out of the barrel. It was a wasted effort, unfortunately. He decided to simply wait. The barrel was too heavy for him to pounce anyway.

_We're doomed, my friend._

_No!_

Theron struggled to free himself again, putting all his energy into it. His hand came closer to the hole he'd punched, but he was still far from freedom. Struggle seemed useless. Then he had an idea.

_Use our claws to open the top, pull out the peaches, and then see what keeps our hand in._

Theron worked frantically, using his claws to pop open the top of the barrel, spill the rotted peaches out, and saw a modified bear trap had been attached inside. It was designed to incapacitate and covered most of the barrel. If it hadn't been modified, it would have sliced his hand clean off and snapped some bones. It took a minute to pry his bruised hand from the trap, made harder by the fact that he couldn't move his arm, although he could certainly feel pain vibrating through it. He wouldn't be able to put any weight on it, and he'd need to find a medkit quickly if he wanted it to heal quickly. Some kind of cast would be nice.

But survival came first.

_If I have to amputate this arm, I'm going to rip off her arms and beat her to death with them!_

_Yes, yes._

_You'll get prey. For now, let's heal, shall we?_

_By all means._

_Nice to see you speaking in sentences longer than two words. Sophistication remains out of reach, but I'll make a gentleman out of you yet._

The Hunter mind hadn't yet grasped the concept of manners, and it had simply repeated what Theron said when he wanted to confirm something.

Theron suddenly smelled the girls returning. He'd gotten their actual scents while they had checked him. They had just left the house and were coming back. The gunman who'd shot him hadn't watched him after he fell, so he had a chance at survival. He leapt over the fence using his good arm and ran for cover.

The girls were probably walking over to check on him. Once they did, they'd realize he was gone and panic. Fortunately, he should be back at his lair …

_Where the hell do I go from here?_

_Here?_

Theron looked around, hoping to find something familiar. To his immense disappointment, he didn't see anything. Using buildings to rebound off to get to your destination was certainly fast, but once he was stuck on the ground, he realized that he had no idea where to go.

_Relax. Just because we're surrounded by people who want to kill us in an unfamiliar environment doesn't mean we're doomed, right?_

_Doomed!_

Theron ran down ahead, waiting for the shout when they realized his body was missing. Once he was halfway down the street, he heard the shout, terrified crying, and then a door slamming. Theron continued running.

After half an hour, Theron's legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor. His breathing sounded more like hissing. It was just another thing the Infection had changed. He got up and took a look around.

There was a gas station directly across from a gigantic grocery store. The grocery store was three stories, had dozens of windows, and seemed elegant despite everything around it.

_I wonder if this place has any …_

_Hamburgers!_


	4. Chapter 4

"I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass … and I'm all out of bubblegum."

Theron grinned at the classic line. They Live was truly an amazing comedy. For 1988, anyway.

He'd wondered into the store and spent the last three days making himself at home. The third floor had been home to every kind of hamburger known to man along with chicken, sausage, ham, and some bacon. Directly across from this was an aisle with loaded with alcohol. Needless to say, he'd done what anybody what do in a deserted grocery store. He'd eaten until he felt like puking, and then he'd accessed the liquor aisle and shared a hangover with the Hunter mind. When he'd woken up, he'd discovered sixteen hours had passed, and found a six inch TV with some ancient movies. The store also had a pharmacy, but his metabolism didn't seem to be working too well. The pain pills hadn't set in until hours later, so he'd made do with putting his arm in a sling. It had actually healed very well once he applied the hydrogen peroxide. Still, pouring it had upset the Hunter mind immensely, and it had vented that stress by eating.

_Are we better?_

_Better._

The grocery store contained enough food to feed him for the next year or so. The owner must have been expecting something before the zombie apocalypse because the freezer was full of bacon. Admittedly, finding hamburgers had helped ease the traumatic stress the Hunter felt when he'd cleaned the wound, so they'd probably eat the hamburgers first and move their way down to the less appetizing foods. The bacon strips in particular looked terrible.

_Do you like bacon?_

_Bacon?_

_I'll make some, then. Your first strip of bacon to celebrate your first hangover._

Theron grabbed a pack, tore it open, and dumped the bacon onto the grill, listening to the sizzling.

_Smell that. Nothing like bacon to celebrate._

_Except hamburgers._

_True, true. What can possibly compare to hamburgers?_

_Prey._

_For the last damned time, we have enough to live life in luxury! What do you want?_

_Prey._

_Shut up and enjoy the bacon._

After the meal, Theron finished some box wine. The grapes were out of season, bitter, and burned his throat, but it was still wine. The Hunter didn't like it, but the Hunter mind hadn't like the past three days either. If a group of survivors ran in, Theron would have to run. Remaining in one place seemed to scare the Hunter. It wanted the familiar scent of prey, but Theron was tired of it. The minor wounds, like the bullets that grazed his head and neck, had healed, but his arm still ached when he put pressure on it. Being Infected didn't mean amazing regenerative abilities, but his arm seemed to be healing nicely. The hole had snapped clean through his arm somehow, and the hole hadn't been too big. The skin that covered the hole contrasted greatly with his other skin. It was a deep shade of pink and red, and left a nasty scar.

_We're nearly out of wine. We might have to get some more from the gas station._

_No more._

_Wine is good, my friend. The grapes are good for our blood._

The Hunter's mind growled disagreement, but accepted Theron's idea.

The gas station was just across from the mall. It looked deserted, but that was no reason to feel secure.

_We need to be cautious now. Didn't you learn?_

Theron hung back and sniffed the air.

_Too much._

_You're right. The smell of gasoline overwhelms everything else._

Theron left the mall and walked toward the gas station, eyeing the streets for the first sign of trouble.

Theron walked toward it on all fours, prepared to pounce at the first sign of trouble. He stalked toward the door and gently pushed it open.

It creaked open as loudly as was possible. If anybody was inside, they had heard. Theron grimaced and crept inside, breathing as shallowly as possible. It seemed empty. He quickly surveyed each aisle and the bathroom before deciding there were no survivors here. He quickly snatched a bottle of wine and sprinted back to the grocery store, not looking over his shoulder as he did.

Theron dashed in his grocery store, slamming the doors behind him.

_Why does it smell like gasoline in here? Damn it, not again!_

Theron dropped the wine and sniffed again. Far ahead on the third floor.

"Damn. Somebody finished off the wine."

"There might be some others, man."

_They're trying to steal our food!_

_Food!_

_They'll replace it, don't worry._

Theron crept toward the elevator, pressed the button for the third floor, and took the stairs.

He heard the elevator creep up toward the floor, going incredibly slowly as it did and making a sound similar to nails on a chalkboard that could be probably be heard by the commoners. Right after the elevator got to the third floor, growls seemed to come from nowhere.

_Now we wait._

_Wait? Pounce?_

_No, let the commoners do the work for us. We can eliminate the last one._

The common Infected were on their way. The noise had shattered the three days of relatively peaceful noiselessness, and the howling could be heard for miles.

_This should be easy._

Theron looked toward the south. They should be coming from there, judging by the screams.

Then an explosion could be heard from miles away. Theron even saw a tiny fire that dissipated in seconds from the grocery store.

"What the hell was that?!"

"Dunno. Means the Infected won't follow us, though."

Theron wondered how they could be so confident. Special Infected might decide grocery store were good targets. Even Boomers would stop at grocery stores if they were starving.

_Boomers._

_If they puke on the food, I promise we'll kill them._

The Hunter mind was reassured, but it still didn't enjoy the presence of Boomers. Smokers were good, though. In a way, they were closer than they admitted. They both relied on the commoner's presence, the element of surprise, and picked off lone wolves. Tanks and Boomers could both be counted on to mess up the pleasant atmosphere, eat all the food, and be generally unfriendly. Especially the Tanks. Theron knew this from experience. He still had no idea what the other specialists were like. Were they intelligent like him, or were they all primal like the Hunter mind?

_I'm intelligent._

_No, you're not. I am intelligent. You rely on primal instincts. You're no more advanced than a common scavenger._

The Hunter's mind was startled by Theron's feelings. It had never seen Theron saddened before, and it had no idea how to deal with an upset human mind.

_Upset?_

_I … suppose so. I apologize for the outburst, my friend. I'm just not in a good mood. Maybe killing someone will help._

The Hunter took that as a reminder to concentrate on the prey, and noticed the common Infected were almost there.

_Why?_

_I have no idea. There should be more. Let's have a look._

Theron climbed up a nearby lamppost, and looked for more Infected. There were none heading in his direction.

_Where the hell are they going?_

_Hamburgers._

_You must be joking. I'm impressed. Pretty soon, you'll be speaking in complete sentences._

_Hamburgers._

Theron pondered what the Hunter meant. He knew where it was referring to, but why did he want to go? Surely if he stayed, he could get a taste of prey. If he went, there was no telling what would happen. What made a little girl so special to him? Even if he arrived in time to devour what was left of her, there was no guaranteeing that he'd survive if another Infected decided to challenge him.

_We have to go._

_Prey?_

_No. We need to save them._

_Save?_

_Save, my friend. Trust me._

The Hunter knew it was important if Theron wanted trust. In nine days of Infection, he'd only asked for trust twice.

_Young prey?_

_Not all of life is about eating. You truly are primal._

The Hunter felt Theron's disappointment. It didn't care at the moment. There would be time later. Preferably when it wasn't hungry.

Theron slid down the lamppost and sniffed. He could smell his fellow Infected and where they were headed. The sounds of gunshot helped, too. Theron ran with the Infected instead of jumping. His arm ached mildly from climbing.

_Doomed._

_We have to try. Just because the entire city is moving toward their position doesn't mean we can give up._

_We?_

_You don't have a choice. If you want to give up, fine by me, but we're going._

Theron ignored the Hunter's mind protesting his decision and looked around. Commoners ran from all direction, all headed toward the house where he was ambushed. Boomers waddled in the crowd, Smokers seemed jog calmly, Tanks were given a wide berth, but his fellow Hunters chose the rooftop method, jumping toward the house.

_Bastards._

_Very nice. You've finally learned to curse. I knew you'd learned something useful from the movies. Now, if we don't panic and run around in circles, we can get to the house in a few minutes._

Gunfire echoed from up ahead. Assault rifles and handguns. The Infected had already torn into the house. Theron got a glimpse of the house behind the crowd and saw the damage.

Common Infected were pouring into the house and being cut down almost as quickly. Fire covered the main entrance and spread along the wooden house. Smokers hung by the windows, hoping to drag somebody out before noticing the windows were heavily reinforced with steel bars. The special Infected didn't want to run through the fire that showed no indication of going out anytime soon, thanks to gasoline poured in the foyer. The house across from them had caused the explosion, and it looked like the fire had spread.

The hallway led into what Theron guessed was the kitchen and then upstairs. At the top of the stairs was a tanned male, probably Italian, shooting the Infected who entered while grinning like a lunatic. His head was shaved, he wore an Italian flag t-shirt with a black leather jacket and short white cargo shorts stained with blood and booze, and reeked of cheap beer and Cuban cigars. Next to him was the pale brunette who had a happy expression that mirrored his own as she sniped the Infected with the hunting rifle. She had changed into an entirely red outfit. Standing by her side was the little girl Theron couldn't stand to kill wielding a handgun, randomly firing into the Infected below. They had a stack of ammo next to them, meaning they didn't have to leave their position.

_Now we wait, my friend._

_For what?_

One of the Tanks decided to smash through the wall and create an alternative entrance. Admittedly, it was still within in easy reach of the minigun, but eventually they'd run out of ammo or be overrun.

_How?_

_Well, saving them won't be easy, but I'll find a way._

_Them?!_

_Fine, just her. She could ride on our back. She looks small enough._

One of them had thrown a Molotov to cover the new entrance, but the fire spread further than they had wanted and went up the railing. More importantly, the Tanks continued. Only two, but they were more than enough. Theron vaguely remembered seeing one eliminate an entire army squadron.

The Italian on the minigun concentrated it on one of the Tanks, and the sisters aimed at the other. Theron knew it was pointless. The Tank that eliminated the army squadron had taken their combined fire and an actual tank shell fired at it before it had died. And it crushed the surviving members of the squad when it fell.

The Tanks proceeded up the stairs toward the minigun, and the Italian got off seconds before one of them sent the minigun flying with a swipe.

Then the group was suddenly retreating from the Tanks, allowing the common Infected to go through.

Theron shoved his way through the chaotic crowd. Commoners, Boomers, and Smokers were jostling to get to them, slapping, clawing, and punching anything in the way. Theron eviscerated a commoner's neck with his claw and watched her drop. He stepped over and slashed at another commoner's face. The claws sliced through easily, removing the eyes and nose. That Infected became just another body, and Theron continued the bloody process until he reached the top of the stairs.

Five bodies later, Theron reached the top and peered around the corner. Somehow, they'd survived, but the second Tank was coming. The Italian pulled out a frag grenade, pulled, and quickly threw, desperation plain in his eyes. It blew up directly in the Tank's face. The Tank collapsed, but the common Infected just climbed over the corpse.

_Perfect. We just have to stop them from climbing over the corpse._

_Stop them?_

_You didn't have a problem killing them seconds ago._

Theron spun around and slashed out. The nearby Boomer's stomach narrowly avoided the blow, but the dodge caused the Boomer to stumble backward and fall down the stairs, taking plenty of commoners with it. He slashed another Infected, aiming and hitting the throat. Blood gushed, and Theron let it land on him. He was already covered in it, and fresh blood wouldn't slow him down. The other Infected took note and prepared to fight.

_Aim for the throat!_

Another commoner's throat was gashed, more blood splashed over Theron, and another Infected stepped over the body.

_The arm!_

One of the Infected swung in an attempt to punch him, but Theron simply grabbed the offending Infected's fist and dug his claws in. The Infected shouted madly, but screeched loudly when Theron crushed the fist. Theron dispatched it with a claw to the face.

_Behind!_

Theron leaned forward, turned and swung, and caught a fellow Hunter's elbow. Theron shoved his claws through.

_Perfect._

What Theron didn't expect was the speed the Hunter he'd crippled would use to get the other arm to scratch at him. Theron simply leaned back, feeling it scratch his chest and draw a small amount of blood, and then lunged forward to bite the Hunter's neck.

Theron felt his fangs puncture the skin easily, heard the skin rip off as he pulled his mouth back, and felt the Hunter fall at his feet. Theron spat the flesh out. Hunters weren't good meals.

The survivors took the decreased amount of attacking Infected as a good sign and fired over the corpse.

Theron barely dodged the bullets and felt more blood gush as more commoners dropped. The shouting couldn't be heard over the gunfire and howling, but Theron could just make out the survivors shouting to each other. They knew they were doomed. Nothing Theron could do would save them unless they moved.

_Grocery store?_

_We need a distraction. Something big._

The survivors all reloaded. Theron could hear empty magazines dropped and new ones jammed in. One of them threw a pipe bomb. It rounded the corner and landed next to Theron.

_Get it away!_

Theron picked it up and threw it downstairs at the special Infected. Fortunately, they'd all bunched together and didn't have time to escape.

Theron ignored the explosion from below and watched the survivors. They had become more confident and poked their heads over the Tank's corpse.

They spotted Theron and fired. Theron barely made it down the staircase in time to avoid the bullets.

_Stupid humans._

_As a former human, I object to that! They don't know we're trying to save them._

Theron surveyed the damage caused by the pipe bomb. It had eliminated most of the special Infected and blown apart the kitchen, scattering bits of Infected and debris everywhere. The common Infected still ran up the stairs toward the survivors, unfortunately.

_More slaughter for us, my friend._

Theron stalked toward the staircase, planning to prevent the Infected from going up. Or at least going up without serious wounds.

Theron swung mindlessly, letting the Hunter's mind take control. It would know Infected better than he did. Theron just watched as he eviscerated them without trying. He smelled the survivors approaching the staircase, reloading as they went.

_Move! They're coming!_

Theron's body didn't seem to obey his commands this time. The Hunter mind was too busy enjoying the carnage to notice. Blood flew, Infected howled, and the Italian got back on the minigun.

Theron mentally resigned himself. If the survivor decided he made a good target, he couldn't escape. Still, watching yourself slaughter without actually being in control made for an interesting experience, and he decided to enjoy the feeling before fatigue from his work set in.

The survivors, oddly enough, weren't shooting at him, despite the lack of Infected attacking them.

Theron spun, slashed at a quick Infected who dodged, and then grinned as a hunting rifle shot blew off the Infected's leg. The brunette aimed again and shot another Infected behind him.

Theron gave them the 'come hither' gesture. The survivors seemed to accept it, but the Italian grimaced and kissed his minigun good-bye and pulled away from the kiss swearing, much to the amusement of the female survivors. They ran down toward Theron. They had temporarily run out of targets for now, and were grouping together.

"So, what's the plan?" the brunette asked Theron, presuming he was intelligent. She didn't lower her hunting rifle yet.

Theron didn't bother speaking and just ran toward the door, hoping they'd trust him. The little girl was the first to follow, and the rest of the group followed.

Theron finally had a good look at the girl. She was blonde with big dark blue eyes. He'd never noticed under her oversized teal hoodie. She seemed to crying, or was at least emotionally disturbed. They clearly recognized him. He could smell the fear emanating off the little girl like a tidal wave. The brunette smelled like anger, old socks, and gunpowder with just a hint of fear. The Italian reeked of booze, happiness, ignorance, and sausage, easily the best combination Theron had smelled since becoming Infected.

"See, they aren't dead 'till you check the body," the Italian beamed, proud of himself for guessing that Theron was still alive.

"Right. Sorry," the brunette smiled at Theron before grimacing. Theron ignored her and evaluated the situation. The survivors were armed and he had claws. More than a match for the commoners. It should be simple to hack their way back to the grocery store, provided the survivors there were already dead.

Theron ran out the entrance created by the Tank, noticing the fire that still burned. Gasoline would have run out by now, so it must have been something else.

They charged out, guns blazing. Theron took swings at any Infected foolish enough to come close to the little girl, and she shot Infected as they ran. They were actually making impressive progress.

The brunette threw a pipe bomb into the house, and the entire crowd of Infected followed, ignoring the survivors and Theron. They swept past them and sprinted toward the pipe bomb.

The survivors made an all-out sprint to try and follow Theron. He could see the store and tried to get a scent as he ran.

The survivors inside the store were dead, but they had killed the special Infected before dying.

_If they shot up my wine …_

_Bad wine._

_Shut up already! We need something to drink!_

Theron ran through the door, detecting the survivors right behind him. Ordinarily, they'd be far behind him.

_We've slowed down. No more bacon for you, my friend._

_Good bacon._

_Fattening bacon._

Theron turned around and stared at the survivors. They were admiring the setup, but kept their eyes on Theron in case of a trap. Then again, considering they'd attempted to kill him, he might slaughter everybody but the little girl.

_What will it do?_

_What will we do? I don't know. I can't kill her. She … deserves better, I don't know._

_Better?_

_She's immune. Still, it's nice to see your ego inflated. It shows ambition, if nothing else._

The survivors were clearly exhausted, the Italian in particular. Theron led them to the third floor, showed them some cots he'd made, and let them rest. He didn't have any blankets, so he'd used shirts that were too big for him. As the survivors settled in, thoughts of murder flashed through his head, but a look at the little girl, sleeping soundly and contentedly next to her sister, quelled the thoughts instantly. They hadn't noticed the remains of the former tenants, and Theron quietly disposed of the bloody mess.


	5. Chapter 5

Theron started pacing, nervous about the survivors. What if they didn't want him around after they woke up? What if they simply killed him once they got up?

_Survival brings out the worse in people._

_Worse in people?_

_People will do anything to survive, my friend. Hard to believe, but I wouldn't have pounced on people and tore out their vital organs before the infection._

_Beat to death?_

_Maybe. I don't remember._

The Hunter mind absorbed the information. It didn't really think of much more than when it would get the next meal, and while tearing out organs was acceptable, it was far more rewarding to simply pin down a meal and start feeding.

_We've got a great supply of food, and I'm not sure about our arm. It feels okay, but be careful._

Theron flexed his arm experimentally, expecting pain to shoot through at any time. The cast had been broke during the earlier melee, but it could be fixed with some duct tape.

_Damn, my nose itches._

Theron had to make due with rubbing it and sniffling. The claws prevented him from scratching soft objects without leaving gashes. He'd learned that when he tried to drink a carton of orange juice. It had almost exploded when his claws punctured it. It had spilled out and stained the combat boots. They still smelled like oranges. Blood wouldn't wash that out.

Theron jumped up as shots rang out on the third floor. He took the stairs, hoping the cursing he heard was a good sign.

Once he got there, he noticed a lack of Infected. The two female survivors were in an argument with the Italian, all of them shouting at the top of their lungs about something. They noticed Theron waiting nearby and immediately fell silent.

"I told the old man not to sleep with his finger on the trigger," the brunette said. The little girl eagerly nodded to confirm her sister's claim.

"Relax," the Italian said, nodding off back to bed and falling asleep in seconds, this time with the assault rifle nearby. The sisters eyed him with disdain and took a look at Theron.

"I made breakfast," the brunette said, and indicated toward the grill. Theron could smell the bacon from here, but he wasn't overly hungry.

_One or two pieces. We need to conserve it._

_Conserve?_

_Don't stuff yourself all at once. Ration the supplies._

Theron snatched a piece of bacon from the bottom and took a few nibbles. Very crunchy. He could feel the sister's stares as he finished. Once he finished, he spun around and tilted his head to the side. Just over the brunette's shoulder was a wine bottle. Theron moved toward that, smelling the contents. The grapes were undoubtedly too sweet. 2006 had been a terrible year for wine.

_Enough._

_Enough wine? What else am I supposed to do? Can we even speak to them?_

Theron chose to stare at the sisters, hoping one of them would say something he could response to.

"I'm Rubi, and she's Opal," the brunette said, indicating to herself and then the little girl who eagerly waved at the mention of her name.

"Theron."

_Did I just introduce myself?_

_Yes._

His voice was very sibilant, and made everything he said sound threatening. Considering his condition, it was appropriate, but it didn't make the impression he wanted. When trying to make friends, you didn't want to sound menacing.

Rubi reached out to shake Theron's hand, but drew her hand back just as quickly as she remembered the claws. She reached into her jacket and pulled out blood-soaked black leather gloves too big for her.

"Here, try these on."

Theron slipped the gloves on, discovering that they were almost perfect. The blood had shrunken them and stiffened them slightly, but they still fit and ensured he could hold items without puncturing them.

"Thank you," Theron intoned.

"Not a problem. The biker didn't need them anyway."

"The biker?" Theron asked. He vaguely remembered somebody he knew having a motorcycle and too much leather clothing.

"Yeah, they were massacred. One of them got away, though. Friend of yours, maybe?"

Theron shrugged. He didn't recall any friends. Then again, he couldn't remember anything a week before the Infection.

"Bald and tattooed with a goatee. Sound familiar?"

Theron tried to think back. As usual, his memory went back to a week before the Infection, but nothing beyond that.

"No."

Rubi looked frustrated, but Opal was still feeling talkative.

"Where did you get your name?" Opal asked.

Theron wasn't sure how to answer that question. His name was what he was, but did he really want to be what he was?

_Of course. Vampire, remember?_

_Aside from the immortality and sophistication, maybe. I really wish I had a cape right about now._

_Slow down._

_Yes, I know. Not good for gliding._

Opal continued staring at Theron, this time putting her hands on her hips. Theron couldn't help but notice how thin she was. How thin both of the sisters were.

"Food is on second …" Theron managed to utter before the itch in his throat returned and made him gag. Rubi looked like she couldn't have cared less, but Opal seemed genuinely worried, her eyes widening with fear for her new friend.

_I have friends._

Theron suddenly forgot about his throat and swept the sisters in a hug, doing his best to keep his claws in the gloves. Rubi pulled away almost as soon as he relinquished his grip. The Italian got up from his nap just as he released Opal.

"That's Uncle Flavius," Opal said, pointing at the Italian. He nodded toward Theron and sprinted toward the bottle of wine.

Theron beat him there, had it uncorked, and managed to drink some before Flavius elbowed him out of the way, caught the bottle, and chugged most of the bottle.

Rubi just chuckled as Theron silently fumed.

_What kind of name is Flavius, anyway?_

Theron calmed down and remembered these people owed him. Besides, should things come to worse, he could slit their throats in their sleep. Maybe.

"Sorry, but I've got a headache," Flavius explained to Theron.

"So … how'd you all meet?" Theron asked, looking for an opportunity to snatch the wine bottle back.

"Well, I met the sisters when they invaded my home and pointed a gun at my head," Flavius said, giving dirty looks to both of them.

"It was only Rubi!" Opal blurted. Rubi shifted and looked as though she were bored. Theron could smell the anxiety, though. She was sweating ever so lightly.

"Well, we needed someplace to go," Rubi said, shrugging as she did. "Your house was convenient."

"Where did a girl like you get a gun, anyway?" Flavius asked.

"I found it," Rubi said defensively.

Theron inched closer to the bottle, plotting his time. Rubi and Flavius looked like they were about to square off.

Rubi and Flavius were facing off, both their hands suddenly too close to their handguns. Theron continued reaching for the wine, and Opal stood by impassively.

Three things happened simultaneously: Theron snatched the wine and Rubi's arm, Rubi's gun went off and hit the ceiling tile, and Flavius missed and shattered a window.

Theron drank the rest while he took Rubi's gun, but Flavius aimed his handgun at Theron, looking incredibly pissed off. Fortunately, he was already drunk, and the shot he fired shattered the bottle, ricocheted off a counter, and flew into the charred bacon.

Theron pounced onto Flavius before he could fire again. The force sent Flavius on his back and the gun slid away. Before he knew what he was doing, Theron started trying to claw at Flavius before remembering he had the gloves on. His bloodlust died down, and he leapt off Flavius and offered his hand to pull him back up.

Flavius didn't move at all, only perked up his ears to try and listen.

Theron heard it before any of them. The horde of Infected they had escaped from earlier must have heard the gunshot.

Theron immediately leapt out the window, taking the shortcut. He landed, rolled once he hit the ground, and leapt toward a lamppost, surprising himself with his agility.

The horde stretched as far as he could see. Special Infected had appeared and joined the horde once more. It was pretty hopeless. The house had been set up for defense. The mall wasn't going to help protect.

"Run!" Theron shouted to the survivors above. Just shouting caused him to feel his throat bleed. All the screeching had worn it down. He'd have to get used to the scarring. If he survived.

Theron ran toward the crowd, eagerly anticipating the slaughter.

_Bloody?_

_Yes, my friend. We get to die a bloody death._

Theron saw the first common Infected run at him, and he slipped off the gloves and shoved them in a pocket.

Theron was too slow. A fist collided with his nose. Cartilage cracked and blood erupted from it.

In retaliation, Theron hooked his claws directly under the chin and felt them pierce the tongue. The Infected howled and sprayed blood from the mess that used to be it's mouth.

Theron hooked his claws out and continued. Bodies flew by, and he slashed at weak points they didn't bother covering. Necks, collarbones, knees, and faces were the best targets. In minutes, he'd lost count of how many he'd clawed, but they just kept coming. He did his best to stop them, but they simply flowed around him.

The survivors had made it out the front doors and started opening fire and running away.

Theron didn't notice a Smoker that whipped it's tongue out. He was tangled and pulled through the crowd. He managed to slice a few as he passed, but he was constricted. He could feel his arms protest and try to get free, but it didn't help. His chest was being crushed, and he couldn't bring his claws to cut the tongue. He'd have to get free quickly or get his neck snapped as the tongue moved up. He got an idea and waited for it to move toward his neck.

The crushing pain was intense, but eventually the tongue reached Theron's neck and moved too far up. Theron bit down and shook his head like a rabid dog. The tongue burst and sprayed blood. Theron turned around and swung at the Smoker. The Smoker hadn't expected a recovery and the claws ripped open the tumors on it's face. The Smoker dropped and released a green smoke that blinded Theron. He recoiled, clutching at his face to keep himself from breathing it in. When he pulled his claws away, he discovered he'd scarred himself fairly badly. Rubbing his face had caused a large gash across his forehead and smaller scrapes around his nose.

The sisters were retreating and taking cover in an alley while Flavius stood in the open, firing wildly at the Infected passing by with the assault rifle. They were doing fine so far. The commoners weren't much of a problem if the survivors stuck together.

Theron ran toward the survivors, following the crowd and hacking as he went. The commoners fell under gunfire and claws, and Theron was reunited with them in a few minutes.

The commoners finally seemed to be dwindling. The corpses were piled high, and the Infected wasted precious seconds climbing over their dead friends. Soon, the situation was almost under control.

Then the special Infected showed up and made things harder. The survivors had their hands full with a Tank, so Theron would take care of Hunters that showed up.

The Hunters seemed to show up one at a time, and all of them seemed intent on killing him first.

_Remember, be on the defensive._

_Defensive?_

_Don't just slash out; plan and react._

Another Hunter, dressed in a biker outfit, swung his claws at Theron. Theron dodged, waited for the Hunter to press in, and then swung. His claws gouged the Hunter's stomach. The mess was deeper than it was bloody, but the Hunter still collapsed. Theron turned toward the next one, dodged a swipe at his face, ducked under another swing, and shoved his claws through the Hunter's neck.

_See? They don't think._

_Plan?_

_Exactly. Take advantage of their failures._

Another Hunter, this one female and wearing a hoodie and cargo pants, swung again. Theron dodged, waited for another attack and dodged under that. He was surprised when the female Hunter dodged around his own attack by quickly stepping to the side and raked her claws down his back. Most Hunters would have wondered what was going on when Theron attacked.

Theron felt the pain, but let out a hiss, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of a howl. She seemed intelligent, or at least knew how to fight. At least he wouldn't have to hold out much longer. The survivors had finished the Tank and were concentrating on the Hunters.

Theron swung again, but she dodged. Theron's patience ran out and he started swinging madly, hoping to kill her before she could defend. She grabbed his claws with her own, and they pushed against each other.

Gunfire and a dying howl confirmed the survivors were finished and hopefully coming to help Theron. The female Hunter released her grip and leapt away.

_Did she smile at me before she left?_

_Important?_

_Very. If she's intelligent, there's an entire group of people who share our interests somewhere._

"You all right?" Flavius asked Theron. Theron simply shrugged in response.

"I've been shot worse," Theron replied after a few moments of thought.

"Will you let it go?" Rubi almost shouted. She looked embarrassed and probably wondered how often Theron would remind her.

"Let's leave," Theron suggested, ignoring Rubi's question entirely. The survivors seemed to agree, and after a few seconds of debate, they followed Theron north.


	6. Chapter 6

Although the horde had been defeated, the survivors were far from safe, as Theron took it upon himself to remind them. Smokers and Hunters littered the road ahead, some of them in groups, and Theron could only defend against one at a time.

"So, does anybody have a plan?" Rubi asked in between gasps. Theron didn't tire easily, but the same couldn't be said of the rest of the group.

"Kill everything that ain't human. Present company excluded," Flavius replied. He'd kept up his spirits by drinking from a flask he'd found on one of the Infected.

Theron didn't bother defending his humanity, taking the time to track nearby Infected. Only a few commoners ahead that wouldn't require too much work, but he was almost positive they were being followed. One of the Boomers had soaked Flavius in bile, but a new shirt would hopefully help, or they'd have to leave him behind to distract the horde, as much as Theron hated to admit it. He was the slowest member of the group, and wasn't so useful now that he was out of ammo. Spray and pray only worked when you had enough ammo. They were lost, they were low on ammunition, and they were tired.

The group trudged forward. Theron could have sworn he heard hissing in the wind, but no Hunters showed themselves yet. The wind was far more useful than Theron had realized. It carried scents and sounds from different parts of the city. He could avoid the commoners and specialists as he chose, but sometimes it became overwhelming. As the group walked, Theron kept his nose in the air, vainly trying to detect anything besides hordes.

"Smell something?" Rubi asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Theron almost laughed at the attempt. She was an expert at sounding like she didn't care, but underneath her façade, Theron knew she was terrified. Then again, it wasn't entirely unreasonable. They were probably the last humans in the city by now. All alone against an innumerable tide of unthinking predators who wanted to devour them.

_No more prey?!_

_I wouldn't count on coming across too many humans._

The Hunter mind felt a stab of disappointment. Common Infected hardly compared to soft human flesh, and the recollection of the taste caused Theron to drool slightly. The perfect temperature and texture. Spittle mixed with blood started leaking from his mouth, but he didn't notice until Opal expressed her disgust.

"Ewww!" she shouted, jumping backward from Theron's side. Theron immediately snapped back into control, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He felt the blood staining his hair fly off, and the resemblance to a dog shaking it's head caused Rubi to chuckle quietly.

"You all right?" Flavius gasped. He'd run out of booze, and now his shoulders slumped and his legs slowed.

"Fine," Theron managed to hiss while attempting to wipe blood out of his mouth without gagging on the taste of leather gloves.

"You have any relatives out there?" Flavius asked.

Theron shrugged. He vaguely recalled his parents living out of state, but his little sister was probably dead or Infected by now. Or was it his younger cousin? Or his niece? Did he have a niece? Could it have been his daughter?

_She's a resourceful girl. Probably._

_Dead._

_Don't bet on it. If I survived, she could have made it._

"So? You going after anyone or what?" Flavius asked.

Theron didn't want to search for his relatives. He was better off ignorant and pessimistic than aware of their incredibly painful deaths. Then again, he didn't remember much of his family.

"Zoey," Theron answered. She was the only person he could think of that might have survived. She knew how to use a gun, she watched too many zombie movies, and he hadn't found her body yet, which was probably more than several of his professors could claim.

_I don't know anybody else. I'm looking for a girl who probably wants to kill me at this point. What does that say about me?_

_Fool._

_Probably. But I miss her._

"Well, I'm on my own," Flavius stated, puffing his chest out and seemingly proud of the fact. Theron was sure he would have detected some kind of sadness on Flavius if he didn't reek of booze and Cuban cigars.

"And you?" Theron asked the two sisters.

The responses were radically different. Rubi shook her head while Opal almost broke into tears.

"Our parents," Opal muttered quietly. Rubi ignored her sister and checked her gun for the hundredth time during their trek through the city. Why parents would name their children after shiny rocks was beyond Theron, but Rubi probably hadn't given a second thought to her parents. There wasn't any kind of emotion from her.

_Shiny rocks?_

_Gems._

_Human thing?_

_That's right._

"And who's Zoey?" Opal asked, eager to change the subject.

"Roommate," Theron answered.

"Really? Only a roommate?" Rubi teased, smiling for the first time Theron had seen.

Theron didn't respond to her. He distinctly heard a hiss in the wind. A hiss that wasn't his own. It sounded like it was coming from around the corner. One of his fellow Hunters had hoped to surprise the humans.

Theron took off the gloves and crept toward the corner of the wall. The rest of the group huddled together and got ready to shoot the Hunter around the corner.

Theron stabbed a claw around the corner and felt blood gush and heard a body drop. He poked his head around to find he'd killed a commoner. She looked familiar, somehow. Late 40s, platinum blonde hair, and a dark skirt that pooled around her ankles.

_Who is she? Why don't I remember this? I've seen her … around campus. Not my relative, at least._

_Hunter!_

_No, she's not. She's dead. _

Theron suddenly caught the mind's meaning, but the Hunter on the building above had already leapt down, pinning Theron to the floor. Theron grabbed the other Hunter by the elbows to keep him from clawing, but the Hunter simply drove it's elbows into Theron's stomach. Theron used the move to lunge forward and sink his fangs into the Hunter's neck.

_Perfect._

The Hunter flailed for a second before Theron shoved it off. The blood splashed into Theron's eyes and blinded him. He heard another hiss directly from behind him, turned, and realized from the sound, it was the female Hunter who had escaped earlier. She was already moving. Theron felt her claws pierce the skin beneath his ribs, seeing her sink her claws into him all the way to her knuckles. He didn't realize it would be so … painless.

He saw his blood jet over her claws and stain the sleeves of her blue-grey hoodie, saw her hands sink into him. His senses increased, and suddenly everything became clear. He could feel his heart working to replace the blood he'd lost, felt his lungs expand and deflate as he breathed in air, and felt whatever had been pierced by the claws groan in protest. He smelled Smokers behind him, and he could hear Rubi's screaming as through he was right next to her. Then his vision turned red, he tasted blood, smelled copper, and heard claws sliding out of him.

Theron fell forward, hearing the survivors shout as darkness crept around the corners of his eyes. He laid there, listening to them fire off what little ammo they had left and running past his body. As they did, he felt Flavius grab his arms and saw dragging him. All of the sudden, he felt an acute stab of pain he hoped he'd never experience again, and the shock overwhelmed his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

Theron felt his eyelids open, but he saw nothing but total darkness. He tried once again, feeling his eyelids open and close.

_What happened?!_

The Hunter mind didn't response, languishing in the pain Theron still felt. For him, it had been reduced to a dull ache, but the other mind wasn't used to dealing with constant pain.

Theron blinked several times, harder and harder, to see if his sight would somehow return. It didn't.

Instead, he sniffed to get a sense of his location. There were so many mingling smells. Heavy cleaning fluids, ammonia, blood, melted glass, smoke, and finally the familiar scent of booze, cigars, and rotten peaches.

Despite it all, Theron felt completely safe.

Then Theron felt his limp body being carried, gently laid on the floor, and then his head was raised.

Theron felt his head get plunged into a bucket of water. His eyesight began to clear, and he could have sworn he saw particles of dust drift off his eyes. Then the panic of drowning set in, and he started to flail his arms.

"There we go!" Flavius shouted, pulling his friend out of the water.

Theron shook his head, blinked to get a clear vision, and looked around. It looked like a janitor's closet.

"Where?" Theron asked, his throat still tasting of blood and some unfamiliar substance.

"Some janitor's closet. We didn't get far," Rubi said, pointing out the window. Theron ambled over and had a look. He could see where he had been stabbed and the trail of blood he left behind. How he hadn't bled to death was a mystery.

Theron immediately looked down. He discovered that he was wearing the same old tattered grey shirt. He almost tore it off in an attempt to look at what had happened to his ribcage.

Somebody had attempted amateur surgery. The wounds were stitched mostly shut with red and purple thread. Blood still leaked, but far more slowly and only drops came from his wound.

"Why is it painless?" Theron asked. He should have screaming his minds out. Or crying.

"Why do you think?" Rubi replied.

"Random chemicals?"

"That's right. The first thing I did was pump you full of whatever was in that bag over there," Rubi pointed. Theron immediately felt his heartbeat go through the roof, fearing what he'd taken while unconscious. Theron ran over to the bag to find it full of used syringes.

He turned toward Rubi and prepared to shout at her, but she spoke first.

"Relax. The syringes are all labeled. My sister wouldn't let me pump you full of random chemicals."

Theron reached into the bag and pulled out a random syringe. It was clearly labeled **Morphine**. He pulled out another syringe that read **Codeine. **The bag sure didn't look like a doctor's case. The janitor had probably been an addict to this stuff. The sheer amount of used syringe in the bag wasn't encouraging either.

"All of them?" Theron asked.

"I had a few. But yeah, you had the rest," Rubi replied, ignoring the dirty looks from Flavius and Opal.

Theron pulled another syringe to find the label had been peeled off.

"Well, how do you feel?" Opal asked Theron, moving forward to give him a hug. Theron almost returned it before he remembered his bare claws.

"Fine," Theron replied quietly. He ached all over, but he would probably be fine. The drugs probably wouldn't hit him until later, but it would be a good idea to be somewhere safe by then. He sat down, cradling his head.

"So, how do we find Zoey?" Flavius questioned. It was a good one. The group couldn't look after itself very well.

"We can't use the Internet. It's been out since this started," Rubi reminded the group.

"Radio," Theron suggested.

"That's … probably out. Still, it couldn't hurt to try," Flavius said. "We have enough ammo to make it."

"The one time you're encouraged to shoot a police officer and you miss," Opal teased her sister. Rubi settled for throwing one of the syringes in Opal's direction, missing by at least six feet and stumbling forward. Rubi tripped over her feet onto the floor.

"Alright?" Theron asked.

"Very comfortable. I'm kinda thirsty, though."

Flavius threw Theron the leather gloves. Theron slipped them on and quickly scratched near his ribs, careful not to disturb the stitching. His stomach was toned, but he was a thin man. It had been at least two days since his last hamburger.

"How long?" Theron demanded, letting his sibilant voice reach the full intimidating potential.

"Roughly twenty-four hours. You've been unconscious at least a day," Flavius responded, ignoring the tone of voice. "So, we gonna find his radio station thing or what?"

"How was I?" Theron wanted to know how he'd been while he was unconscious.

"Well, you were thrashing throughout, so we had to avoid your claws while we dragged your carcass over here. I'm guessing you overdosed and went into cardiac arrest. Rubi tasered you a few times. That was fun. You should have seen yourself flop. Like a fish out of water, you were. I had to deal with a sobbing little girl who checked on you every few seconds to make sure you weren't dead and the psycho that probably was going to kill you. So, overall, I've had worse days at the office, I guess," Flavius answered.

"And the horde?"

"Damned if I know. I dragged you, the girls shot over my head, and nobody important ended up with a bullet somewhere it shouldn't be. Everybody wins."

_True enough._

_Hungry._

_We can't eat them. We'll get a hamburger or five on the way._

"To the radio station!" Rubi shouted, posed dramatically as though expecting somebody would take a picture.

The group picked up their guns and headed toward the door before remembering they didn't have any idea where they were going.

Flavius was the first to realize it. "Where the hell do we go?"

"I suppose we could look for a giant satellite dish of some sort. Or a radio-shaped building. Or we could ask the locals," Rubi retorted. "Maybe we could have the guy who doesn't actually have to walk on the ground have a look."

"Do you mind, Theron?" Opal asked.

Theron shook his head. He was the one who wanted to save Zoey. The rest of them were all in it for the chance of survival. And maybe the company. Then again, Theron wasn't exactly an amazing conversationalist.

Theron wordlessly crept toward the window and leapt out. The Hunter mind took over at that point, instinctively knowing how to bounce off angles and ricochet off buildings correctly. Once he'd reached a rooftop, Theron had a look around. The hordes of Infected would probably indicate the importance of a building. Malls and office buildings would probably be filed with Infected while barns might not have any Infected for miles. Then again, the rural countryside was miles away. It would suicidal to even attempt crossing the city. Best to simply find Zoey. She'd have a plan. She'd read the books, seen the movies, and knew how to use a gun. That meant she'd have a whole bunch of people hiding somewhere living just fine.

_I hope._

_Hope?_

_If she has a plan and some good people, she'll be fine._

Theron scanned the city from his current rooftop, looking for the obvious. How hard could a giant satellite dish or something like that be to find? After several minutes of searching, Theron decided to move around the city and try to find it.

As he leapt, he screeched happily, feeling fresh air get shoved down his throat and into his aching lungs. It felt good to be able to see the city without competing with the commoners. His own kind were nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Theron let himself fall toward the street and land on the curb. This street seemed deserted. It was ghostly quiet, but plenty of noise could be heard in the distance.

Theron looked again for anything that could be related to a radio satellite. Fortunately, he spotted the dish. It was a tiny speck miles away. Amazingly enough, it looked to be in working condition. Theron would have to get closer to tell. Theron broke into a run, leapt off a wall, and pounced his way toward it. While he soared, he saw hordes of commoners, all of them probably very recently Infected, roving about. If they had known better, they would have left. This section of the city didn't seem of any strategic value to the humans. No gasoline stations, no gigantic food courts, just small stores, most of them relating to technology of one kind or another.

Theron continued leaping over the heads of commoners, flaunting his ability and showing off. The commoners snarled and leered, but they couldn't actually do anything. Some of them simply ignored him and concentrated on something else entirely.

Then Theron saw what they were all staring at.

Fellow Hunters leapt from nowhere to pounce on unsuspecting commoners. The others didn't bother fighting back, preferring to stay away from the claws and fangs and let their fellow commoners get butchered. Theron kept an eye out for the female Hunter. There were too many to count as they leapt, but they pinned down the victim to feed, so he had plenty of time to search. She didn't seem to have joined the rest of them. Theron felt temporary relief before he heard the hiss behind him. He recognized her hissing, but this time, he wouldn't remain stationary.

Theron spun and stepped back, dodging a swing and landing a hit of his own. The female Hunter gracefully swung her head under his arm and aimed her fist at his groin. Theron stepped to the side, but her claws gashed his hips as he stumbled. She seemed to know exactly how to attack. Theron snarled and kicked instead of punching. The attack took her by surprise, and she stumbled long enough for Theron to land a punch.

He slashed her shoulder, running forward as he attacked. She didn't bother swinging, choosing to step back and keep herself even with him. She decided to use her fangs, lunging at his neck vampire-style. Theron responded with a head butt and a slash to the neck. She dodged both, but stepped too far toward the edge. One of the bodies on the rooftop caused her to stumble off the edge toward her comrades below.

He took advantage of her absence to look for the dish.

Theron saw the gigantic satellite dish up ahead, not too far now. It looked pristine. The building itself was a wreck. Shattered windows, open doors fluttering carelessly in the breeze, and blood staining the walls.

Taking a running jump of his rooftop, Theron leapt through one of the windows that was open rather than shattered and took a look around. The wallpaper was nothing special. It had been painted light red, but the blood still managed to distinguish itself from the rest of the wall. While it looked like a tech nerd room, judging from the amount of computers, the room itself contained a radio and broadcaster.

_Now I can introduce you to radio, my friend._

_Radio?_

_Like movies, but no pictures._

_Zoey?_

_I can only hope._

Theron started turning the dial on the radio.


	8. Chapter 8

"So after killing 53, 595 of them, I, the illustrious Chi …"

Theron turned the dial. It didn't turn very quickly and made a loud clicking noise that the Hunter mind found pleasant. The radio itself wasn't very well maintained, covered in stains from nacho cheese, soda, and glue. Radio broadcasters were sloppy people.

_Click._

"If anyone can hear this, proceed to …

_Click._

"Join the Army and receive …"

_Click._

"Do we have to? I hate hospitals."

_Click._

"Oh, God, why? My brother, father, and cousin?! Have you no shame, woman?!"

_Amazing. Soap operas in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. Where will wonders cease?_

_Click._

"Evac at Mercy…"

_Click._

"There is a cure!"

_Click._

_Go back! Go back!_

_Click._

"… cure can be found at Mercy Hospital. That's right, somebody in Fairfield's Mercy Hospital has a cure! Problem is …"

The howl of a Hunter was heard over the other end of the radio, and the man started screaming seconds later. Theron could almost picture the bloody scene. Seconds later, the man gave a dying cough, and the Hunter leapt off the body and looked for food.

"There is a cure!"

_Looped message._

_Click._

"If anyone can hear this, proceed to Mercy Hospital…"

The radio signal suddenly went out. Theron realized the radio had been making too much noise. He finally heard the soft steps of Infected moving toward the room. They were outside his door. The door was your average wooden door, and wouldn't stand up against a good beating. They'd be through in seconds.

Theron grabbed the broadcaster, readjusted the radio signal to send an emergency broadcast that would override the other signals, and broadcasted as quickly as possible. "Zoey, go to Mercy Hospital. I'll meet you there."

The tongue of a Smoker burst through a hole in the door, lashed out, and snapped the broadcasting antennae before Theron could finish. Then the tongue was retracted, and the commoners burst through the door, all intent on destroying the radio. Theron knew attempts at defense were pointless against this many people and ran for the window.

He managed to leap out and expected to fly across, but the Smoker had managed to wrap it's tongue around his ankle, and his flight was halted. The world seemed to stand still, and then move up as he fell.

_Of all the things to happen …_

Theron began to curse his luck and his fear of falling returned. He vaguely recalled being afraid of heights before the Infection, but bouncing off walls and leaping heights he'd only seen in his vampire movies had been so exhilarating that he had forgot about it. Now it came back to terrify him.

Theron started struggling before wondering what would happen when he hit the ground. Would his chest burst open and spray blood everywhere? The mental image caused him to giggle, and then he actually hit the ground.

The momentum caused him to slide along the ground instead of splatter, giving him something similar to road rash instead of anything rupturing. He bounced, slid for a few feet, stopped, and then the tongue retracted.

He suddenly slid along the concrete, his already tattered shirt offering no protection as his back was scraped. Fortunately, the pain was nothing compared to what had been done to his chest. The skin near his collarbone had been mostly scraped off, but bits of it still remained, the sickly pale contrasting the red and pink. Eventually, Theron felt his foot tap against a wall and suddenly he was being lifted up, albeit upside down. He had never been so tired in his life, and the Smoker's tongue was crushing his foot. He could feel the bone in his little toe bend the wrong way. Fortunately, the Smoker didn't have a good grip and Theron didn't expand too much energy in wiggling loose. He was prepared for landing and rolled gracefully once he hit the ground, grimacing as he did.

The remnants of the broadcaster landed inches away from Theron, expertly thrown by one of the Infected in the room above. The radio came seconds later and landed near Theron's foot, bits of radio flying everywhere once it hit the concrete.

_No more clicking?_

_That's right, my friend._

Before he realized what he was doing, Theron howled in anger, the sound breaking the silence that followed.

Theron stared at the Infected in the building, waiting to see what they did next. Most of them simply stared down, then forgot about the howl and proceeded to laze about. The Smoker wasn't stupid enough to extend the tongue now that Theron was ready for it, so it simply remained by the window surveying the city.

Theron stared up and watched as one of the commoners came too close to the edge and fell out the window. Theron watched as the Infected flew down, cackling all the while, and cracked it's head on the pavement, brain and skull fragments suddenly littering the sidewalk.

_Time to go back to the group._

_Back?_

_We're not leaving them._

_Faster alone._

_I need the company. You're not a good conversationalist._

The Hunter mind ignored Theron and looked around. No other humans to claw. The Infected above were quiet, making a minimal amount of noise. Then Theron heard gunfire nearby.

_Did they come out of the closet?_

Theron giggled at his joke while the Hunter mind was perplexed before passing it off as a human thing, but the motion set a new wave of pain up his spine. He straightened up and ran his claws through his hair.

_Let's go save them. Again._

Theron ran to check out the source of the noise and found his group of survivors had left. They'd somehow gotten submachine guns along the way. They had eliminated all the commoners before he'd arrived.

Opal waved excitedly to Theron with the hand holding the Uzi, spraying bullets into the air and hitting a lamppost. The bullets ricocheted off and landed inches away from Rubi and a pile of corpses. Rubi leapt up and started cursing frantically, looking to see if any of the bullets had nicked her.

Theron ran over to inspect their work. An entire horde decimated in seconds. No gun for him, but it didn't matter. Theron couldn't have gotten his claws to fit inside the trigger guard anyway. The group spun around and aimed, but recognized Theron and didn't fire.

"So, we have a plan?" Flavius asked in between puffing on a Cuban cigar and drinking from his flask.

"Mercy Hospital."

"Hell no. Mercy Hospital's overrun. That's the first place people went once the Infection hit," Flavius replied, concern wrinkling his brow. "Any other ideas?"

"Mercy Hospital."

"What makes you so sure of it?"

"Zoey and friends."

"Her friends or us?"

"Both."

Flavius thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "Too many Infected for anybody to handle."

"Look, Mercy Hospital isn't close. How about we stick together along the way?" Opal suggested, her dark blue puppy-dog eyes silently pleading with Theron to stay.

_Should we stay?_

_Food?_

Theron nodded, ignoring his Hunter mind. He would stay a little longer. Zoey probably wasn't anywhere near Mercy Hospital. Besides, if they planned to evac the survivors, he would have seen a chopper.

Opal came forward to check on Theron and stifled a gasp once she saw his collarbone. Rubi and Flavius came to look at him and they both seemed surprised as Opal.

Flavius suddenly decided to pour whatever alcohol he'd put in the flask onto Theron's wound.

Theron howled again, this time causing Rubi and Flavius to cover their ears and Opal to leap away terrified.

"You're welcome," Flavius muttered under his breath.

_Burning!_

_I know. Breathe in, breathe out._

Theron tried to do that, but he sneezed and coughed at the same time, causing the survivors to see if he needed more medical attention.

"You okay?" Rubi asked, offering a syringe.  
"Fine," Theron replied. He stretched, yawned, and shook his head to clear his vision.

"Off to Mercy Hospital!" Rubi said, pointing northwest before deciding Mercy Hospital wasn't in that direction. Theron spotted the hospital, the tallest building almost cross the entire city. Even if he went alone, it would have taken days to get there in one piece. With his friends, he could probably make it. Probably.


	9. Chapter 9

The group trudged forward, Flavius and Rubi casually shooting any Infected that came too close. They hadn't come across any special Infected in the alley they'd wondered into, but it was only a matter of time.

Flavius signaled for the group to stop. He lit another cigar and took a shot from the flask while the sisters rested. Theron was anxious, knowing every second they rested was another second closer to being spotted by the horde. He paced about, taking in any potential avenues of ambush. The only weakness was from above. The alley, while being almost obnoxiously long, went from one end to the other, no other way to enter unless you jumped off the buildings above. Smokers could ambush at any time, Tanks could throw rocks …

Theron eyed the roofing suspiciously, listening for the slightest sound. Fortunately, there was nothing but the wind. He checked on the group.

Flavius was still finishing his cigar, Rubi had a syringe in her arm, and Opal seemed content to sit by and watch. Rubi was blinking very quickly and drooling, but at least she was walking in a straight line. Flavius extinguished the cigar seconds later and Rubi started coughing, but they managed to keep up.

Theron leapt, rebounded off the wall, and got onto the gutter of the buildings that helped make up the alley. He could keep watch from here. So far, they were safe. Admittedly, a wave of Infected was getting closer to their location by the second, being led on by the scent of Boomer bile and Hunters. They had enough sense to know the Hunters didn't enjoy sharing meals, but they also knew the Hunters would lead them to the meal.

Theron howled at the survivors to get them to hurry. They immediately broke into a sprint toward the end of the alley, but Theron simply leapt through the air and landed there. He straightened up, brushed dust off what was left of his shirt, and inhaled through his nose.

"How many?" Flavius gasped, already out of breath.

"Hundreds," Theron answered. He was surprised by the lack of emotion in his own voice.

"Close?"

"Closer."

"Hey, check it out!" Rubi shouted, pointing to what looked like a safehouse in the distance. The door was hanging open in the wind, the windows had bars, and it looked abandoned by the former tenants. The group walked toward it, never so happy to see ammunition in their lives.

Theron was ahead of the rest of them, running into the safehouse and inspecting it for any flaws. When he found none, he collapsed into an exhausted pile onto a chair. The rest of the group joined him, Opal and Flavius sitting next to Theron while Rubi sat across from him.

Seconds later, Opal yawned, stretched, and curled up on the floor, futilely attempting to be comfortable on concrete floors. She fell asleep almost as soon as she got comfy. Rubi simply collapsed on the floor and proceeded to snore softly. Flavius and Theron eyed each other to see who would fall asleep first.

Theron's paranoia kept him from falling asleep and Flavius wasn't entirely tired. Flavius walked over to Theron and wordlessly offered him a sip from the flask. When Theron refused, Flavius walked back over to his crate that doubled as a chair and stared at Theron, seemingly checking him for any weaknesses.

"How did you learn to shoot so well?" Theron asked. He'd seen Flavius aim precisely and waste very little ammo on fights. Rubi also knew what she was doing, but she tended to use more ammo than necessary, spraying Infected corpses with enthusiasm that shocked her sister and caused Flavius to roll his eyes. Theron didn't care either way, but Rubi would eventually run out.

"I was in the army reserve," Flavius said.

"And Rubi?"

"Friend in juvie taught me," Rubi replied, not asleep yet.

Theron fought to keep his eyes open. Somebody would have to keep watch for any sneaky Hunters, and Flavius was probably just getting by. Flavius passed Theron the flask and curled up in a corner away from the sisters.

Theron drank and almost immediately gagged. The liquor was too heavy and tasted like rubbing alcohol.

He was definitely awake now, though. As if the taste wasn't bad enough, he'd also inhaled the scent by accident. His eyes watered and he sniffled, and Theron could have sworn he heard Flavius chuckle softly before falling asleep.

Theron opened the safehouse door and stepped outside, smelling the air. Smoke, rotting bodies, and sweat permeated the air.

Theron drank again from the flask, more to fill his stomach than wake himself up. He was starving, but he still couldn't make himself like whatever was in the flask.

_There must be food somewhere!_

_Hamburgers._

_You can't exactly afford to be picky._

Theron looked around, smelling no nearby food. There had been a hotdog stand, but it was long empty.

Theron ran forward, trying to get a scent on anything edible. He ran into the street and stopped for a moment.

The faint scent of charred hamburger wasn't too far away. Faint though it may be, it was a chance at food. Theron ran toward the radio broadcasting building and tried to check for the scent. It was definitely coming from inside the building. The building filled with Infected who were probably unhappy with him. The Smoker had already tried to kill him. It would have worked too. If he had put a little less energy into his pounce, he'd be dead. His head would have cracked, his collarbones might have snapped … and there were only so many times anyone could escape death.

Theron tentatively looked around, keeping what remained of his senses aware while he did so as he pushed open the door and snuck into the building. The Infected in the building remembered him. The hostile grumbling and the sounds of a Smoker preparing to attack crushed any hope of sneaking in, but if he could grab the food quickly and escape, he would be fine. In theory, of course.

_Then again, everything looks good in theory._

_Planned?_

_No, I don't have it planned out. We just jumped through a window last time. Now we need to actually explore the place._

The common Infected peeked out and realized he was a Hunter. Once they got a good look at him, they snuck back into their corners.

_Superior!_

_Yes, we're the best. Now, concentrate!_

Theron ran through the corridors, head held in the air to track down the smell. He ran through as quickly as possible, hoping a Smoker wasn't hiding in the shadows.

_Second floor._

Theron turned around and ran toward the stairs, dodging commoners and flailing at them when they came too close. Fortunately, they dodged out of the way or knew to keep their distance, so no blood was spilled while he ran toward the staircase. It looked like a clear run.

Theron heard the Smoker hiss nanoseconds before the tongue wrapped around his chest. He hadn't prepared himself, so all he could do was scratch the tongue with his claws while he was dragged backward.

The commoners quickly gathered around the Smoker, eagerly anticipating Theron's bludgeoning. Theron could hear excited grunts and snarls from them, spittle dripping from their mouths and excitement plain in their eyes.

Theron thought quickly as he was dragged, but didn't have a plan by the time the tongue pulled him into the crowd. He was jerked upward into a standing position.

The Smoker's fist collided with the back of Theron's neck, and the blow drove his breath away. The commoner that landed a hit on his stomach didn't help either. Theron would have thrown up if he had eaten any food.

Another commoner swung and missed, fist landing on the tongue and getting covered in slime. Fortunately, Theron had a plan now.

One of the commoners swung a fist directly at his face. She put all her energy into it, her knuckles were clenched and white, and the force probably would have shattered his nose.

As it turned out, Theron managed to bite her fist as it flew at him. The collision with sharp fangs peeled skin off as Theron nearly swallowed, but the blood lubricated his teeth and allowed her to pull back slightly before he bit down. Theron felt the fragile bone snap under his teeth, but the commoner didn't seem to be effected. She used the other fist to punch again.

_Perfect._

Theron jerked his mouth, feeling her hand move with him. Her fist was jerked a few inches to the right, spinning her around and knocking the Smoker off balance. The tongue loosened for a few seconds, and that was all it took.

Theron kicked backward, aiming for the Smoker's knee, but ended up hitting him in the groin. The Smoker doubled over and got kicked by Theron again, this time in the knee. Bone snapped, and the Smoker fell forward, clutching a commoner for support.

Theron reached out and began the gory slaughter. One commoner rushed forward to receive a kick that launched it across the hallway. Theron swung his claws, raking multiple Infected around him. The Infected flailed in pain, creating a good distraction for the other commoners while Theron caught his breath.

The commoners seemed content to hide and cower in their corners, but Theron still eviscerated them.

One of them, probably a radio broadcaster, raised her hands in a plea for forgiveness or mercy, but Theron didn't interpret it. He let the Hunter mind take over and revel in the slaughter.

One claw to the neck brought the begging Infected down, but it didn't kill her instantly. She collapsed, blinked twice, and died, her eyes already glazed over from the Infection, giving no sign that she had died.

The other commoners ran, but Theron pounced, slashed the neck, and repeated until they all stopped moving. The Hunter mind was reassured by the simplicity. There were commoners, his underlings, and he killed them. They had tried to do the same.

Most of the Infected laid on the floor, most of them dead, but some merely bleeding to death from having been clawed. Their breath came rugged and heavy, most of them heaving up blood while attempting to breath.

Theron ignored the blood, stepping through it when necessary, and proceeded toward the staircase, knowing there was edible food somewhere in the building.


	10. Chapter 10

Theron felt his consciousness being dragged back to the surface now that the Hunter mind had exhausted itself with carnage. Theron could feel his eyelids growing heavy and his stomach grumbling as he rushed up the stairs, neck back as far as it could go to allow his nose to inhale all the scents.

He could smell the hamburgers only a few rooms away. He could hear crying noises coming from the same room. Somebody was in the room saving hamburgers.

_More prey!_

_Who hides in a building full of Infected?_

Theron felt the Hunter mind throw caution to the wind and run toward the door, several corridors away, but it wasn't a problem for a starving Hunter.

The corridors flew by quickly and Theron found himself in front of a metal door that led to a freezer. Theron felt goose bumps climb up his elbow once he touched the door.

_Wha …_

_Used to store hamburgers._

That was all the Hunter mind needed to hear. Theron eagerly pushed on the door handle to find it was locked. He started punching the door.

Nothing was achieved except for some pain in his hands. Claws, sharp as they may be, weren't good for bludgeoning through metal objects.

_Cruel fate, to taunt me thus and …_

_Open door._

_It's locked._

_Pick door._

_Oh right. I should have thought of that._

The Hunter mind growled affirmatively, and Theron shoved one of his nails into the lock. As could be expected, the nail didn't fit. Neither did any of the other nails on his left hand, all of them too wide to fit inside.

_What now, genius?_

_Break lock._

_It's not that simple. Locks are tough to break._

_Insider breaks lock._

Theron put his ear to the metal door and recoiled at the cold. Tentatively, he tried again and heard faint crying coming from within. Female sobbing.

_Good idea._

Theron straightened his back, attempted to wipe as much blood, dust, and grime off himself as he could, and politely knocked on the door. Whoever was inside didn't even stop crying or acknowledge his presence in any way. He couldn't hear the faint pitter-patter of feet coming to open the door.

_Not open?_

_Clearly. Somebody didn't want to be disturbed._

_Food!_

_I know. What a greedy person. I might just kill them once they open this door._

_Food!_

With that last thought, Theron felt the Hunter take control and slam his head into the door. He heard something shatter and the world turned red and started spinning for a few seconds. What shattered? His skull or the metal? Possibly both?

The pain wasn't overwhelming compared to what he'd gone through before, so he was prepared to deal with it. He supposed it wasn't entirely bad. Pain kept him sharp and focused, after all. Sharp as you could be while starving and exhausted. Theron resisted the urge to feel his head to inspect the damage and was pleased to notice a large dent in the door. Instead of complaining of probable dents in his skull, Theron focused on the door.

_Kick the door. Legs are stronger than fists._

_Fists hurt._

_That too. Just use our legs, already._

The Hunter mind complied and allowed Theron to kick. He pulled his leg back and kicked. Combat boots should have made the task easy. The boots, slick with blood from the earlier battle, caused Theron's foot to slide to the left instead of damaging the door. Theron spun around completely, and the back of his head collided with the door.

The Hunter mind, not deterred in the slightest, forced Theron to get back up, but before Theron could kick again, the human mind recalled something.

_How exactly did charred hamburgers get in a freezer?_

The Hunter stopped to ponder the question, leaving Theron's body in mid-kick, causing it to collapse into a pile on the floor.

_That door is meant for a freezer. How could any scents get in or out, anyway?_

_Matters?_

_Of course it does! Think. We both know the scent is coming from here, but how is that possible?_

_Trap?_

_That would be the most likely explanation._

Theron slowly rose to his feet, tensing for an attack. Whoever was smart enough to use hamburgers as bait couldn't be far. If they had a rifle, he would have been dead by now. He felt goose bumps on his arm as he waited for death to arrive from one of the three corridors. He shoved his back to the door, trying to keep his eyes on all three corridors. When nothing came, Theron inhaled deeply. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Charred hamburgers and blood from the first floor. Theron growled in frustration and turned back to the door.

_Now, simply bend the leg and kick. Like pouncing._

_Like pouncing._

_Even you can't screw this up._

Theron pulled his leg back, grabbing it to his chest with both hands, and attempted to keep his balance. Theron managed to do so for a few seconds before kicking the door. The dent punctured near the handle of the door, creating a metallic echo that could probably be heard from outside. Theron worked quickly, reaching his arm inside and unlocking the door.

Theron had been right. It was a freezer. He noticed three things: there were boxes of hamburgers piled up by the wall, a solar grill had charred burgers that had been burnt to little black rocks, and a scantily clad female Infected with elongated claws that dwarfed his own was by the grill.

She was kneeling next to the grill, sobbing into her palms, no easy task considering her claws. Theron admired them for a second before turning his attention to the boxes of burgers piled high. They were unlabelled boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. If he hadn't known by the scent or by the open box by the grill, he couldn't have guessed what they contained.

Theron moved past the crying Infected toward the wall, wondering how somebody could be so sad with so much food around them. Admittedly, the solar grill looked like something out of a cheap sci-fi movie with plenty of dials and a reading displaying either the power or the time. It had the CEDA emblem on the side in bright yellow lettering on the side. The Infected herself didn't even notice Theron as he moved past her to pick up a box. The boxes probably had up to thirty hamburgers each, easily enough for the group, and with the amount of boxes here, they could probably last for the better part of a month if they ate nothing but burgers.

As Theron moved toward the exit of the freezer, the female Infected behind him let out a particularly heart-wrenching sob, causing Theron to stop in his tracks. He pivoted around and found she still hadn't noticed him.

_We should comfort her._

_Bad._

_She's just in pain. Infection hurts._

Remembering what he had gone through to become a Hunter, Theron set down the box and moved toward her. Once he was close enough to hug her, she stopped crying.

Theron froze and waited as she turned toward him. Seconds later, he noticed her glowing red eyes.

Theron blinked twice and stared. The red eyes were better than the effects in any vampire movie he'd ever seen. It was as if all his vampiric dreams had come true. Elongated claws, red glowing eye, and blood covering the walls. He desperately wanted to give her a hug, glance deep into her eyes, and tell her everything would be fine.

Then she howled, her glowing red eyes suddenly not as beautiful as she stared hatefully at Theron. Theron sprinted toward the exit, grabbing the box as he went. She moved far faster than he did, practically on his tail on as he left.

She didn't anticipate that he'd close the door behind. Theron saw her recoil slightly from running into the door.

_That ought to teach the …_

The metal door flew backward, missing Theron by inches and smashing through the wall. The female Infected howled again and ran at Theron. He sprinted down the corridor toward a window, feeling her claws nearly scratch his shirt as he ran. He pounced and used the walls to propel himself down the corridor in seconds, ricocheting off the walls and giving him an exhilarating feeling comparable to jumping off the tops of buildings.

Once he was by the window, he looked back, prepared to see her in the distance running toward him. Unfortunately, she was only three steps away, waving her bloodstained claws around.

Theron leapt out the window, almost positive he would lose her. His legs ached from the constant running and he didn't have the energy to land properly. He simply used the box to cushion his fall. Once he hit the ground sliding, he rolled off the box and got back up, barely keeping himself awake. The female Infected had simply leapt out the window, landed on her feet without tripping or otherwise obviously wounding herself and continued sprinting toward Theron, howling all the while.

Theron growled and continued running, dodging around corners and cars. She seemed to have trouble changing direction quickly. He ran directly in the street and searched for a place to hide. She seemed to have lost him temporarily, searching in the wrong direction. Her constant howling made her easy to track, and he managed to hidden behind a limousine that had crashed into an office building.

Theron opened the limo door and sat down inside, clutching the box to his chest and leaving the door open to avoid the sound it would make when he slammed it. The limo had leather seats and very little blood. The mini bar was nearly empty, containing only champagne and water. Theron opened a bottle of water and waited for her to stop howling.

After several minutes of hiding, the howling ceased. Theron had gone through most of the water and the last of the champagne while he waited. He heard the crying again, coming from the middle of the street. He crept out, carrying the last of the water and the box, and ran toward the safehouse. He heard the crying fade as he ran, but heard the hundreds of Infected migrating in their general direction getting closer. Theron opened the safehouse door to find his group completely safe. Opal and Rubi were sound asleep in one corner, Flavius in the other. Theron walked over and tapped Flavius with the combat boots, mainly to wake him up and partially to get rid of the blood.

"What?" Flavius asked.

Theron held up the box and water and dropped them nearby, staring expectantly at Flavius.

"Fine, get some rest," Flavius muttered. He patted Theron on the back and took up the watch, sitting on a box staring at the safehouse door. Theron put his head on the floor and instantly fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Theron was suddenly back at his dorm, reclining on the couch and watching Dawn of the Dead with Zoey. She was resting her head on his shoulder and hugging him close. She was warm, which was nice considering he was freezing.

A quick look around the dorm showed it had changed. The movies weren't scattered around the floor, sharp objects weren't stockpiled on a table, and the window was intact. It was all peaceful and quiet with the exception of a frat party a few floors down. Neither of them had been invited. Zoey was a rich girl and thus was expected to be a snob, and Theron had driven a neighbor's minivan through the host's living room when he was fourteen. Those were the good times. Then again, it had resulted in the longest community service ever bestowed. The van had gone through the kitchen, a bathroom, the actual living room, and then exited, annihilating the grill, patio, and landing in the pool. He'd taken out an oven, the entire bathroom, a pool table, and a brand-new plasma screen with the ribbon still attached. The van's engine had burst into flames, so it wasn't all bad that he drove it into the pool after he went through the house. Extensive property damage, GTA, reckless and underage driving were the charges. Fortunately, the GTA charge was dismissed on a technicality, but others had still applied.

Zoey sighed, her breath on his neck causing him to shiver. He turned to find her staring at him intently. He turned to face her, looking into her blue eyes. He noticed she smelled of expensive perfume. She didn't usually wear it unless she was expecting a date. Zoey leaned forward until their noses were touching and smirked. Theron grinned, but without warning the scent of expensive perfume was replaced with the smell of rotten peaches.

Theron's eyes fluttered open to find Opal's face hovering mere inches from his own.

"He's alive!" Opal shouted to Rubi and Flavius. Theron unsteadily rose to his feet, still tired.

"Food?" Theron asked almost immediately. Rubi handed him a burger from a makeshift grill set up while he was asleep.

"While your lazy ass slept, we transformed this into something livable," Rubi told Theron, gesturing to the various changes made.

The safehouse door had been fortified with deadbolt locks, multiple steel bars, and duct tape, the ammo pile had almost doubled in size, sodas and drinks were stacked on shelves, and a makeshift grill had been constructed with marshmallows, hamburgers, hot dogs, and

Theron devoured the burger Rubi gave him and snatched another off the grill, immediately regretting it as his thumb was burnt. To make the grill, a metal box had been opened, gasoline had been poured in, and a slab of glass covered it, allowing the burgers to be cooked, albeit very poorly. Theron resisted the urge to howl and suck his thumb, eating the hamburger quickly and washing it down with a club soda.

"How long?" Theron asked.

"Sixteen hours," Flavius replied. "You weren't a stationary sleeper, either. Talked and waved your claws everywhere."

"It was kind of cute," Opal said, blushing as Theron gave her an incredulous stare. Theron vaguely remembered being called many things, but never cute. Especially not in his Infected form. Claws, bloodstained teeth, combat boots, tattered clothing, and dead eyes usually detracted heavily from cute.

Theron helped himself to more burgers, being careful to avoid burning his fingers this time.

"Problems?" Theron asked.

"Those hundreds of Infected you mentioned are dead, so there aren't any problems for the moment. We've even salvaged a radio," Flavius said proudly.

Theron went over to listen to the radio. The antenna was held together with duct tape, so the signal was atrocious. Fortunately for the Hunter mind, it still made a satisfying noise when Theron turned the dials.

"Chicago Ted, your … evening …"

_Click._

"There's only one reasonable course of action now. Kill …"

_Click._

"If anyone … proceed to Mercy Hospital."

_Click._

"Oh, how I wish I could believe or understand that!"

_Click._

The radio stopped working immediately afterward. The antenna fell off while Theron was turning the dial.

Theron sighed and grabbed another drink. He reminded himself Zoey probably didn't have anything to transmit with.

The rest of the group was actually at peace, taking breaks and cracking jokes while Theron moped.

_Good dream?_

_Excuse me?_

_Zoey?_

_What are you doing in my dreams?_

_Watching._

_You stay the hell out of my dreams. That's the last sanctuary I have to … think about anything without listening to how it would be better if there was blood, guts, and food involved._

_No difference. Sanctuary?_

_Do you think I enjoy your company?_

_Does it matter?_

Theron was shaken out of thoughts by the sound of an explosion and something incredibly smelly, sticky, slimy, and green covering most of him. It smelled like puke. Rotten puke left out to bake in the desert sun for a few weeks.

"Don't sit so close to the window!" Rubi reprimanded as Theron jumped out of the chair and nearly wiped the stuff off.

_Don't move!_

_Why? … Claws._

_Yes. Having claws prevent me from doing lots of things._

_Zoey?_

_I'd be more impressed by the wit if it helped get the puke off instead of making jokes._

The Hunter felt momentarily rejuvenated by all the food and actually grinned despite the fact that puke was actively soaking into the rags Theron wore. The survivors eyed Theron, but didn't ask any questions, choosing to relax and drink. For Flavius, it meant cigars, women, and whiskey, producing an unopened carton of cigars, a Penthouse magazine, and a new whiskey bottle from nearby boxes labeled accordingly. Rubi seemed content to clean her gun and practice pistol whipping boxes. Opal had a book of Ogden Nash poems and a Bible, reading in a corner surrounded by flashlights, lamps, and a pile of empty soda cans.

Theron sighed heavily, opening the door as he did. It took two minutes to remove the bars covering the door and another three to open all the deadbolts, mainly because his claws were covered in slime. He stalked out and admired the streets.

Plenty had changed. If it had been abandoned before, it was wrecked now. Bodies had been stacked up in piles nearby the safehouse by type of Infected and bullet casings were littered almost everywhere nearby. The commoners had large piles, the legs of Boomers were piled into a manhole, effectively blocking the entrance to the sewer, the Smokers were at least piled by bushes, and fellow Hunters were piled up by a car that had slammed into the safehouse.

Theron ran toward the pile, searching to see if the female Hunter had been nearly killed him twice was in. He shoved his way past the bodies, pausing to note most of them wore hoodies with the sleeves held down somehow. He tore off pieces and used them to wipe the puke off, but it had already gotten into his pores.

_I need an exfoliation or something._

Theron felt the Hunter mind's confusion and took a small amount of pleasure in that. It would probably have asked if it could pronounce exfoliate.

_You know what a shower is?_

_Maybe._

_Fine, avoid the question._

Theron finished cleaning himself off, but as he turned around, he could have sworn he heard a hiss come from the pile of bodies. He swiveled back to find that none of them had moved, what remained of his shirt blowing in the wind.

Theron turned around again and jogged toward the safehouse. If one of them had survived, it was better to not take chances. Once he got there, he found that the bars had been put back up and the deadbolts were back in place.

"Open up," Theron growled, not in the mood to ask politely.

"What's the password?" Rubi asked through the windows.

"Open up or I'll jump rope with your small intestine," Theron growled again. He was anxious and not in the mood for this.

"Now I'm definitely not letting you in," Rubi said, moving toward a box.

Theron prepared to punch the door when Opal wandered over to the window.

"The small intestine is too long to jump rope with."

Theron responded with a hiss that caused Opal to leap back. It even scared him a bit. He wasn't aware he could make that kind of noise. Only vampires had ever made that noise.

Still, it worked. Theron could hear the bars being removed and deadbolts being opened.

"You have to promise not to kill her," Opal said just before she opened the door completely.

"No guarantees," Theron replied. He heard Opal putting back the bars to lock the door. "Fine. She lives to see another day."

Once he said that, the door was finally opened.

Theron ignored the group and grabbed a club soda and drink to avoid taking his anger out on them. The club soda was undoubtedly expired and left unrefrigerated for too long, but it was better than expired energy drinks.

"So, what's the plan now?" Flavius asked Theron while staring at the magazine.

"Find Zoey."

"It's that simple?"

"Mercy Hospital isn't far."

"Yes it is, and I told you, we're not going in there."

"We can follow him until he gets there," Opal argued. "You even said so yourself."

"Was I drunk?"

"Were you awake?" Rubi interjected. She'd stopped pistol whipping boxes and was taking sips from a whiskey bottle.

"Alright, then Mercy Hospital it is. Let's grab our food and go," Flavius declared.

Theron grabbed the hamburgers and put them in his pocket, Opal took as many energy drinks and sodas as she could, Rubi did the same, and Flavius was carrying the entire box of whiskey while cramming as many Penthouses as possible into it while shoving Cuban cigars into his jacket pockets.


	12. Chapter 12

"Hurry up, Flavius!" Opal shouted over her shoulder while the Italian quietly cursed and hurried. While one box had been enough to store both the whiskey and Penthouses, his jacket pockets couldn't carry all the cigars. He'd resorted to smoking them as quickly as possible to help them move.

"Maybe if one of you helped me," Flavius said after his fifth cigar. He took roughly twenty seconds to smoke each one, but there were still plenty of cartons, and Flavius didn't look like he could smoke all of them.

_This is taking too long. I can smell them coming._

Theron walked over to Flavius, ignoring the offered cigar when he approached. He opened the box, took one of the whiskey bottles, and drank, pouring the entire bottle down his throat. After he finished, he threw the whiskey bottle toward the wall and scooped the rest of the cartons into the box.

"There," Theron said, ignoring the burning in his stomach and throat, the tears in his eyes, and world suddenly shaking very quickly. Flavius murmured something about sipping, but Theron didn't hear much of it.

_Stop shaking … spinning isn't better._

The world blended from clear to a solid disorganized mess with odd angles and colors that weren't supposed to exist for a few seconds, but came back to normal eventually.

Theron blinked to clear his eyes, but while the world was clear, his limbs didn't listen to him. One arm moved far slower than it should have and the other didn't seem to be moving at all.

"Put on the gloves before you hurt yourself," Opal said. She threw the gloves at Theron. Theron didn't even flinch as the gloves came in contact with his face. Theron just stood there with a grin plastered on his face. Flavius poked the back of Theron's head experimentally, but nothing happened.

_Death?_

_Huh? Nah. Dead, drunk, cheese, chalk, beer, brandy …_

_Drunk._

_I could have told me that if I wanted to listen to myself, which I don't, thank you very much._

_Listen?_

_Quit talking! Make the universe stop! Please!_

Theron growled as he gave himself a headache and collapsed, forehead hitting the ground first. He felt them pull him up, but the world was determined to spin around and make him dizzy.

_How dare you, universe! Fight like a man, dammit!_

Theron howled, causing Opal and Rubi to jump away, and leapt toward the center of the spinning. This happened to be the brick wall of the safehouse. The staggering pain brought Theron back to reality very quickly, hearing the crunch of something breaking as he collided. His head felt like it was split in two for the second time in as many days and he could feel the blood soaking his hair, effectively slicking it down.

_One man's blood is another man's mousse._

Despite the pain, Theron actually started giggling as blood dripped into his eyes. The survivors seemed worried, but the universe was taunting him. Theron vaguely felt the gloves being slipped onto his hands, but failed to notice who did it.

Seconds later, Theron doubled over, courtesy of a punch to the gut. He felt the whiskey climb back up his throat, tasting just as bad coming up as going down. Theron didn't have the energy to vomit it out, so it just dripped down his chin. After being puked on, drooling whiskey wasn't so disgusting. Besides, he could feel it disinfecting his wounds. Probably not the healthiest way to do it, but at least he was awake.

"You okay?" Rubi asked.

"Serves him right. Stealing a man's whiskey like that," Flavius said.

Theron responded with a low growl. He straightened himself up and wiped the drool off.

_Let's think. What do we do?_

_Zoey?_

_I meant about our situation._

_Zoey is situation?_

_Focus. One step at a time. Where are the Infected?_

_Brothers and sisters?_

_More like brain-dead cousins. Just help me find the safest route._

Theron walked into the street, trying to get a scent. There was nothing over the unsubtle scent of puke coming from him. He could barely hear the howls of Infected from far away, but no indication as to which direction. Theron felt lost for the first time as an Infected, an unfamiliar sensation to the Hunter mind.

The group stared at Theron and waited for him to guide them to the next safehouse. Theron started walking toward Mercy Hospital. He really had no idea where he was going, but the hospital was the tallest building in the city. It couldn't be missed from anywhere in the city, but how would any of them be able to navigate the streets leading to it while avoiding the Infected?

_Don't panic. Don't panic._

_Calm._

_Exactly. I need to be calm._

_Good memories?_

_Don't have too many of those._

_Zoey?_

_As I recall, I lost most of my blood, was pumped full of painkillers, and hadn't eaten or slept in days. I slept through the sound of gunfire. It could have been a daydream. I don't exactly have full control over my thoughts._

_No?_

_You're still here, aren't you?_

Theron was so caught up in walking that he didn't notice the stop sign until he bumped into it. They were on the edge of this district and that much closer to Mercy Hospital.

The stop sign seemed oddly pristine, lacking blood, rust, or bullet holes. Too pristine. How did it stay so clean? Theron checked the back of the stop sign, finally finding everything. Dust, spider webs, rust, and a sticker that was too familiar. The sticker was a silhouette of a spider and a wine bottle.

Theron remembered this. The sticker was used to mark important locations by his old fraternity. He had gone out drinking with his fraternity to celebrate something and ended up being shoved out of the car. Technically, he had been shoved and a stoplight took him out, but it was still their fault. He'd woken up in a ditch by the side of the road and walked twenty miles over a span of a week to find his college. Eventually, he had marked the stop sign after bumping his head on it. Fortunately, he was recognized by a professor out shopping who offered him a ride back. He'd ditched the fraternity as soon as he re-entered. Not his proudest moment ever, but Zoey had always found the story to be hilarious. Ditched by his precious fraternity after a night of raising hell and drinking. Still, they were probably dead or Infected by now. The thought brought him much less comfort than he thought it would.

"What's the holdup?" Flavius shouted while jogging to catch up with the group. Whiskey and magazines were heavier than they appeared, apparently.

Theron turned toward another street, hoping this way was correct. Dark alleyways weren't ideal ways to travel, but hopefully it was a quicker way.

The group ran down the alley and turned on the flashlights, shooting lone Infected as they ran. Theron kept close to Opal and Rubi. Flavius could take care of himself, but Opal needed protection and Rubi, despite all the practice pistol whipping, still lacked the strength to properly execute the maneuver. The group ran, making good progress, until they came across a barricade.

SWAT had set up an organized perimeter to deal with those entering Mercy Hospital. As could be expected, body armor hadn't prevented Infection. Coupled with the sheer number of people detained, a gigantic crowd was blocking the best route to Mercy.

Theron cursed their luck. If this was blocked, they were screwed. Odds were, nothing else offered an easy path to Mercy Hospital. Zoey would be evacuated, but Theron would be left behind.

_Breathe. I'm sure there's an alternative solution._

"Check it out! There's a sewer," Rubi proclaimed, thrusting her arms into the air triumphantly.

_I just had to say it._

_Sewer?_

_Waste disposal system._

_Waste?_

_Unfortunately. This is a terrible idea, though. Even Infected aren't stupid enough to wander into the sewers._

"There's no other way," Rubi reminded Theron. She had seen the doubt on his face.

"To the sewers!" Theron exclaimed, posing dramatically.


	13. Chapter 13

Theron was the first to start climbing down the sewer, taking the ladder. He certainly didn't enjoy this, but he was the leader whether he admitted it or not, and that meant doing things nobody in their right mind would choose to do.

The first thing that hit Theron once he started climbing down was the unbearable stench. If the puke was bad, this was abominable. If his tear ducts hadn't been worked to death, he would have cried. It was impossible for him to smell anything else down here. It was practically a Hunter's nightmare.

The ladder itself was rusted. He wouldn't be surprised if it hadn't been replaced since the city's construction. The actual wall he got to stare at while descending was covered with fungi and mushrooms, most of which were of an abnormal size, practically poking him in the face as he climbed.

_Did that one move?_

While Theron stared at one unblemished white mushroom that seemed to have switched places with an orange-green mushroom, he continued climbing. The stair directly behind him gave out and he started falling toward the river of sewage below, howling as he went.

Falling in was easily the most disgusting thing Theron had ever experienced. It felt like landing on a dirty pile of snow until it dissipated with a bubbly noise. Thankfully, Theron didn't submerge his face and managed to drag himself out in seconds, flailing as he went, clenching and unclenching his fingers to avoid flying into a blind rage. He desperately needed new clothes at this point. Blood, guts, bile, even whiskey staining his clothes was okay. Nothing out of the ordinary there. But actually falling into sewage …

_Damn this river to the lowest …_

Theron's tirade was interrupted by Rubi falling on top of him. She had missed the same stair, but angled herself toward the ladder so she wouldn't fall in. It was too dark to see where they were, so she was probably glad to have landed on him instead of cold, unforgiving, concrete or the river of sewage her feet were hovering over.

"You okay?" Rubi asked.

Theron grumbled and pushed her off him. She managed to avoid tumbling into the river, luckily. He would never have heard the end of it if he did. Opal and Flavius were both careful as they climbed, reaching the bottom without any incidents.

Theron started shaking himself to get as much waste off as he could, managing to get most of it off without using his claws.

"Why bother? It's not like you can get any smellier," Rubi pointed out, ignoring the death glare Theron gave her.

The sewer was completely dark. The group of survivors turned on the flashlights and wished they hadn't.

The river of waste wasn't brown as expected. Instead, a paper-thin crust of green and yellow that was reminiscent of snot covered the surface. There was a silhouette where Theron had fallen, but the crust seemed stretch on almost as far as the eye could see. The walls were covered in mushrooms and fungi that had thrived and were twice the size of normal mushrooms. There didn't seem to be much blood anywhere, giving credit to the theory that Infected hated sewers. The concrete ledges were narrow, designed for one or two people to walk.

'The Infected hate sewers' theory was proven wrong seconds later as a horde of Infected was heard howling and sloshing through the waste.

"Where are they?" Flavius shouted, waving the Uzi around to spot them with his flashlight. He started firing randomly, giving off enough light to spot the Infected coming straight at them.

"Left or right?" Rubi asked, spraying bullets toward the Infected. They dropped, but two more seemed to appear for every one that died.

"Left," Theron hissed. They were more bodies leading that way, so it was safe to assume somebody had cleared the way.

The group ran left, making sure to stay out of the sewage and walk slowly. The Infected didn't do the same, ultimately becoming slower while their blood gave the crust on the river a red tinge. Theron hurried along, looking back over his shoulder to make sure the Infected weren't close. They were safe for now.

"Check it out!" Rubi pointed to something Theron never thought he would see in a sewer again.

Somebody had actually taken a motorboat into the sewers. Sewer sailing. The newest version of underground street racing, only this one was literally underground. Take motorboats to sewers and race to see who could win without crashing into the wall. Not the most popular of questionable sports, but it made plenty of cash back in the day thanks to an increasing casualty rate and the promise of explosions.

The group jumped on, noting that the boat had no brakes or seatbelts.

Theron took the wheel and revved the engine. It still made a satisfying roar, but there would be time to think about that when they weren't under attack.

_How hard can it be? It's just like driving a car, right?_

Theron immediately floored the boat. The boat didn't simply buck forward, it rocketed forward. Theron felt the wind slap him into his seat and saw Flavius fly backward into his. Opal and Rubi were holding onto the seats as though their lives depended on it. They probably did.

Theron couldn't hear anything but the roar of the engine and the wind. The rearview mirror indicated that all of his passengers were shouting, but he couldn't hear a word of it.

Then he noticed the wall looming up ahead. It had seemed so far away, but now it was already in front of them. With the second he had left, Theron attempted to steer the boat to the left, hearing the side of the boat slam the wall as it turned just before collision. Opal looked like she was about to get sick, Rubi was grinning from ear to ear and actually excited, and Flavius had already gotten sick all over the side of the boat, holding his stomach and letting drool slide down his chin while blinking very rapidly.

Theron floored the boat again and looked back at the group. Rubi was having the time of her life and holding her nose, Opal looked even more dazed and sick, and Flavius was pressed up against his seat, face turning purple and eyes about to pop out of his head.

_He needs to learn to relax. It's only …_

_Smoker!_

A second look confirmed a tongue was around Flavius. It hadn't given out and snapped his neck like a wishbone, but it couldn't be long. Theron let go of the wheel and ran forward, using a claw to slice the tongue. The tongue made an audible pop as it loosened and flew off the boat. Flavius nodded to thank Theron, and then his eyes were terrified yet again.

Theron managed to grab the wheel in time to steer the boat away from an upcoming wall yet again, nearly flying out of his seat as the boat crashed again. Flavius held on to his seat, contemplating whether it was entirely safe to leap out and grab the box.

Theron floored it and made yet another sharp turn, causing the box to perilously slide toward the side of the boat. Flavius ran forward frantically, grabbing the box and cradling it to his chest, cooing and muttering reassurances while the sisters looked around for threats.

The Infected horde behind them was too far away to pose a threat, but the Infected loners up ahead could pose trouble if they dented the boat too badly. Theron continued driving, letting Rubi do the shooting. She seemed a little too enthusiastic, shooting at almost every Infected they passed while Opal clenched her seat and kept an eye on her. Flavius had gotten back to his seat, cursing and holding onto his seat while keeping a hand on the box.

Theron noticed the boat's roaring engine had dropped to more of a growl before stopping seconds later, out of gas. The group quickly made their way up, looking for a way out and finding an exit nearby that was oddly devoid of Infected. Rubi had actually eliminated most of them while the boat sped by, so they could catch their breath. Theron guarded the rear, waiting as they used the ladder. Once they finished, he simply leapt up, not even bothering to face the ladder as he did. He flew out of the manhole and landed roughly, inhaling fresh air. He never thought he would be so happy to have air again. It was something you took for granted until you weren't getting any.

While Flavius and Theron celebrated with a bottle of whiskey, Opal looked for Mercy Hospital, finding it far in the distance. Farther than it had been before. She sighed and made a note to point it out to Theron.

Theron and Flavius had gotten into a drinking contest with what little whiskey hadn't been smashed in the boat ride. Far worse than simply a lack of whiskey, the spilled whiskey had stained most of the magazines. Flavius, fortunately, was too drunk to notice, having drank an entire bottle the moment they emerged. Both of them were trying hard to not to cry, vomit, cough, or do anything that could upset them. Theron simply sat there, shaking and reminding himself not to take it too far while Flavius opened the last bottle and offered it to Theron first as manners dictated.

Theron had already finished a bottle with Flavius and was trying hard to make sure he could grab the bottle with his stiff gloves. The world, as usual, was wobbling back and forth, going in and out of focus, and generally changing angles. He managed to reach out and take the bottle without missing and take a sip before his throat actually hurt too much to consider drinking.

"How about we make this interesting?" Flavius offered, a devilish grin suddenly appearing on his face.

Theron nodded, just as interested.

"How about a game of I Never?" Flavius said. Theron simply shook his face.

_I Never?_

_A drinking game. If you've done what the person says they haven't, you drink._

_Good idea?_

_Considering I'm an amnesiac, no._

_My fault?_

_I'm pretty sure it is. Still, I bet Flavius and Rubi have a few interesting stories._

Before Theron could change his mind, Flavius had already drank the second bottle of whiskey, actually tearing up and vomiting onto one of the last Penthouses he had.

_**Author's Note: It always struck me as weird that the survivors get into the sewers so willingly. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm the first person to ever use the term 'sewer sailing.' Yay me.**_


	14. Chapter 14

Seconds after vomiting, Flavius drooped forward, saved from falling into his own sick by Theron's gloved claws. Theron gave him a gentle nudge away from the stained magazine, causing Flavius to collapse backward onto the box stained with sewage, whiskey, and possibly broken glass. Fortunately, Flavius didn't jump up and run around with a shard of glass poking out of him, so Theron ignored him and checked on the girls.

Opal and Rubi were sitting together in a corner, Rubi having filched a bottle of whiskey somehow and proceeding to sip while Opal had taken out the book of Ogden Nash poems and read quietly, whispering some of the words out loud. They seemed oddly content in their position, Rubi pausing after sips to admire the whiskey's quality or lack thereof.

Theron, however, wasn't as content. The Infected horde in the sewer could still pose a threat if they found them, not to mention the innumerable hordes that undoubtedly littered the surface and route to Mercy Hospital. They were stuck with enough ammo to make it about halfway, almost no food, and no sign of survivors or help anywhere. Army and SWAT units were more of a nuisance thanks to the Infection, but worse, they hadn't actually left anything of value behind. The army should have been armed to the teeth, but no, not a single assault rifle lying nearby after a corpse died. Even a spare handgun would have been nice.

_Calm. No panic._

_Right. Just breathe in and out, right?_

_Right._

Theron took his own advice and tried to think. If they found resources along the way, they would survive. He could still feel his old wounds, but they were mere aches and bruises. Nothing a tough-as-nails Hunter like himself should be concerned about. The scars had toughened him up, hopefully. He had plenty. The bullet through his shoulder, his scrapes from various Smokers, the bruises from commoners, and other wounds he'd suffered during his time as an Infected.

His sinuses finally cleared and he could smell again. Nothing but the usual blood, sweat, and sewage in the air. Theron checked on Flavius again.

He was sleeping like a baby, curled up and sucking his thumb, mumbling commands to imaginary troops and readjusting his head when it came too close to a sharp piece of glass.

Theron's thoughts wondered back to Zoey. What if she was already at Mercy Hospital, holding off Infected, waiting for him? The thought, combined with his anxiety over the nearby hordes, caused him to worry far more than he had before. As if he weren't stressed enough, he felt the Hunter mind start to worry about him.

He began pacing around, something he never recalled doing, wishing for anything to distract him. He passed by the box Flavius was sleeping on and noticed the cover of one of the Penthouse magazines peeking out.

The perfect distraction.

He crouched down, hoping Flavius wouldn't wake up. He reached toward the box before noticing both the sisters were staring at him at a distance. They only shot disapproving glares from a distance before returning to drinking and reading.

_We need an excuse._

_Excuse?_

_We're … lightening the box. If we dispose of the stained issues, Flavius can move faster. We're not stealing sexy mags from an unsuspecting Italian. We're helping the group as a whole._

_Stealing is helping?_

_It's all in the logic, my friend._

Theron knew Flavius well enough to know the man loved the magazines. He'd seen how he clutched it to his chest when the Infected came near, how his breathing rate increased when somebody came too close, all the minor things. Not to mention the man risked being thrown off a boat for it. If the man didn't share his whiskey, he probably wouldn't other people borrow his magazines.

Theron slowly reached toward the magazine that attracted his attention. It was slathered with a generous helping of sewage that had soaked through the issue, covering everything but the Penthouse logo and the head of a blonde model on the cover. He made sure take off his gloves before touching it. It was one thing to touch blood and guts, but entirely another to touch sewage, especially with leather. Theron slowly slipped the magazine out of the box, quickly reviewing. The sewage had indeed stained through the entire thing. He flung it into the sewer.

He reached for another, brushing aside pieces of glass while slipping the issue out as quickly as possible. Flavius snored and turned over, finally finished sucking his thumb and beginning to mumble incoherently. Theron stopped for a second before he slid the second magazine out. Encrusted entirely with sewage yet again. He threw it into the sewer once more.

He spotted a third magazine, this one clean. He reached, but then Flavius rolled over onto his hand.

The first thing Theron felt was glass being imbedded into his claw. The second was the whiskey on the supposedly clean magazine burn his claw further. The last thing was a massive headache as Flavius practically leapt into the air and screamed his brains out.

Theron howled, pulling his claw back. Flavius stopped screaming, coherent and sufficiently shaken out of his drunken stupor. The sisters were too busy laughing at them to offer any help.

Theron put his mouth to the wound, vaguely remembering that the glass would need to come out quickly. He remembered having heard of glass daggers being used by Italian assassins. Snap off a piece in the chosen victim, run away, and the victim would die a slow, agonizingly, painful death.

Flavius didn't so much as glance at the wounded Hunter next to him before noticing that Rubi had a tiny bit of whiskey left in the bottle she had taken earlier. Rubi chugged what was left before Flavius had sprinted halfway to her.

Theron tried frantically to suck the piece of glass out before deciding it was no use. It seemed to be stuck. It was roughly the size of a fingernail, so it should have been easy to remove, but it was lodged in there.

Theron tried to remove it by mouth again. He could feel it move against his knucklebone, but it still didn't budge. He wiggled his fingers experimentally to find it didn't hurt, but was still visible under the skin, creating a little bump by his index finger.

_Great. Just goddamn great. I try to help out and look what happens._

_Help out?_

_Like I said, use logic._

While Theron was thinking and without any warning, Flavius was suddenly shaking Theron's head and shouting a question that Theron didn't catch until his head was stationary once again.

"What were you doing?"

"Borrowing," Theron replied, trying to keep his voice emotionless. If Zoey was dead, he didn't know what he would do, but he shouldn't let his stress carry into their lives.

Flavius seemed taken aback by the answer, or maybe he still felt like sinking into another drunken stupor. It was hard to tell with him.

Their conversation was interrupted by the blaring of a car alarm and Rubi's cursing. The Infected were heard seconds later. Following that was the sound of breaking glass, the smell of burning flesh, and Infected screaming.

"I got it!" Rubi shouted after the sound of screaming stopped. "The car is ready!"

Theron forgot all about the magazines, leaving Flavius behind to carry the box. He ran toward the sound of the noise, finding Rubi had hijacked the most expensive two-door sports car in the lot. It was, unfortunately, an incredibly damaged car, lacking doors, airbags, the roof, and a hood. How it was even running when the engine was visible was a mystery, but the car was sturdy to have held up this long. It had a radio, an engine, and seats. It would do.

Flavius eventually caught up with the group, gaping at the car as if all his dreams had come true at once.

"I drive," Flavius stated as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I jacked it, I drive," Rubi replied, her voice turning surly and argumentative.

"Well, I'm the badass soldier, so I drive," Flavius claimed, shoving Rubi out of the way and taking the driver's seat while Theron and Opal sat in the cramped back of the nearly wrecked convertible.

"You're the drunk wannabe soldier," Rubi retorted, managing to shove Flavius out of the seat.

"You don't think I learned how to drive when drunk in the army? I was drunk half the time I was there," Flavius boasted.

"You're in the reserves. I bet you never actually served, you wimp."

"Fine, but I call shotgun," Flavius said, finally acquiescing and allowing Rubi to drive.

As could be expected, Rubi floored it, launching the car down the road at over 100 miles in six seconds. She was going the right way toward Mercy, but a turn was coming up. She was ready, already preparing her fingers for the turn. When it came time, she swung the wheel completely around.

The car didn't turn. They shot past the turn, seeing it one second and watching it disappear behind them the next.

"You missed the turn!" Opal shouted, barely making herself heard over the wind and the radio Rubi had just turned on.

If Rubi heard, she didn't give an indication. The car blazed down the open road, not even slowing as it plowed through Infected. Theron and Opal had to contend with Infected who rolled over the windshield to fly over the backseat while Rubi drove directly into a horde.

They were through the horde in seconds, speeding through directly toward another turn. Rubi failed that one as well. The wheel wasn't responding.

Stores flew by too quickly to read the titles, but a mall was quickly approaching. Rubi stepped on the brakes, but the car didn't slow down at all.

The convertible ramped up the stairs leading to the mall, flying through a window and landing mostly unharmed in a video store on the second floor. Opal and Theron jumped out, alert and unharmed as ever, Rubi was trying to disentangle herself from the steering wheel, and Flavius was still shivering in fear or cold and clutching the box as though his life depended on it.

"I have good news and bad news," Rubi announced to the group, nobody but Theron paying attention.

"Good news?" Theron asked. He could use some right about now.

"I know exactly where we are," she told him.

"So do I," Opal told Theron. "Mercy Hospital is just southwest of here."

"You two know this mall?" Flavius spat, wobbling out of the car and holding the side for support.

"Yeah. I've had some good times. My first arrest was over there," Rubi said, pointing to a jewelry shop that had been vandalized. "Next to that soda machine was my first tear gassing. And my first Tazering was next to that sign. The one with directions."

Theron looked around for anything useful, checking the car first. The radio was still on, but he couldn't remember how to take out a car radio. The signal was still terrible.

"I don't believe it! Some bastards came and robbed the food court," Flavius said while he gazed down from a balcony.

"Well, we're stuck, so get used to this place," Rubi reminded them. "If we only had a mechanic."

"If only," Theron echoed.


	15. Chapter 15

The food court was, fortunately, stocked with the bare minimum and devoid of Infected, contrary to Rubi's predictions. Admittedly, the food was only pizza toppings, but Theron wasn't overly picky at this point. He and Flavius snacked on olives that had just expired yesterday while Opal and Rubi ate pepperoni with only a thin layer of green fuzz that they scraped off. They even found some dried pineapple lying on a tray.

After the meal, Rubi and Opal led Theron and Flavius to a men's clothing shop while they both headed toward another.

Theron had trouble finding something that fit, unlike Flavius. Theron eventually settled on a Midnight Riders t-shirt that clung to his chest and some new cargo pants. Getting new clothes felt odd for him. For once, he wasn't considered in gore. The feeling of fresh clothing felt nice. It was a shame it was also completely unfamiliar. All Theron needed now was a shower. No, several showers. Flavius had gone for the classic white tank top with jeans look, which actually seemed to suit him. Flavius had also gotten a pretty heavy five o'clock shadow. Theron checked to see if he had any stubble, but the gloves prevented him from finding out. Instead, he found a mirror.

As usual, his face was ghostly pale with his hair slicked back by blood and wind, but he was pleased to notice he had some stubble. He had to strain to see it. Then again, his eyesight had started to go when he relied on his sense of smell and hearing.

_Useless._

_How will I be able to tell where I'm going without actually looking?_

_Watch, human._

The Hunter mind took dominance and showed Theron. He saw his eyes close and squeeze shut so tight it hurt. He growled softly, panting heavily seconds after. He smelled blood and meat on his breath, both old meals. Then the Hunter growled again, but it was lower and more threatening this time.

The room appeared to Theron again, but devoid of many colors. It was looking at the world through a shiny bronze filter, but his sight was basically normal. He didn't notice any abrupt differences aside from the filter.

Then he howled, letting it echo throughout the mall. This kind of vision was extraordinary. It was as if his sight doubled. He couldn't see the glass windows or see-through objects that seemed to litter the floor, but he could see things that were dots in the distance. The blue dot across the mall was a soda machine. If he wanted to, he probably could have read the selections. He could read the epidemic leaflets across the balcony. He could also hear his own footsteps echo in his ears as he paced yet again and see just how bad he smelled.

_Echolocation. Very clever._

_Better than eyes._

_I prefer seeing color. Don't do it again._

The Hunter mind growled, much to Theron's confusion. What could it possibly do to harm him? They were in the same body. Any pain was shared, whether it was from hunger, wounds, or sadness. If he died, it would die with him.

The uncertainty of the dying part shook Theron. Would it take over him if he died? How would it? What would even be left to control?

_Death is death._

_How poetic, my friend._

_Control isn't yours._

_I wouldn't try it, my friend. Remember, I can take pain far better than you can. Choke on that._

_Choke?_

_Mentally choke on it, then._

_How?_

Theron ignored that part of his mind and concentrated on the situation. They had eaten, but were no closer to Mercy. There was probably a horde of Infected following the car as well. They didn't have time to shop.

Theron started walking toward the women's clothing store, following their scents. It wasn't hard since they had also line behind a small trail of sewage. Theron followed the scent toward the shop, but it abruptly stopped along the way. It took him a few seconds to catch a newer smell. It was some kind of ungodly awful artificial perfume that led back to the food court. The scent replacing the sewer smell was dying flowers and rotten peaches.

Sure enough, Theron could see them from the balcony, both the sisters and Flavius pacing nervously, eyeing the mall as if they expected Infected to fly out from nowhere.

_This is going to be hilarious._

_Hilarious?_

_You've never tried to scare people for laughs? You must lead a very dull life, my friend._

_Your life._

_Exactly. Please stay out of it._

Theron crouched, noting that the cargo pants seemed to hang loose. His claws made no noise as they scraped across the floor, but the combat boots squeaked far too loudly. The group didn't notice, fortunately.

If Theron aimed the jump correctly, he would fly through the branches of a tree and land in the middle of the group. Admittedly, going around would offer a better angle, but he couldn't land in the middle of the group then. Theron could already picture the angle, the landing, and their reactions.

He howled and leapt, flying through the air toward the tree. He should have dropped directly into the center of the group, but with wind resistance interfering, it wasn't so simple.

Theron flew into the tree, snagged his foot on a branch, and flipped forward, spinning himself around. He landed on his back, staring up at the survivors. Somehow, they hadn't noticed him, so they were huddling together. Any second now, one of them would …

Rubi tripped over Theron, falling flat on her back, firing the Uzi and hitting a store window, and tripping Opal. Opal grabbed onto Flavius as she fell, tearing the brand new shirt as she did and falling flat on her face.

Flavius swiveled around, a furious expression on his face, but after taking a second glance, he merely shook his head and chuckled.

"You three wouldn't last a day in the army," he said, a smug look of self-superiority crossing his face.

"How'd you join, then? You drink too much and you can't keep up with the rest of the group," Rubi pointed out, choosing to remain on the floor.

"It's a long story," he replied, seemingly anxious to discuss something else.

"We're not in a hurry," Rubi reminded him. "Mercy Hospital is blocked off at the moment."

"Well …"

The entire group sat up and prepared to listen.

"See, I wanted to join the Air Force. To get away from my family. So, I managed to qualify, but my practice run didn't turn out so well. See, I was given the enormous responsibility of testing out some new bombs. Biological stuff, stuff you don't play around with, okay? So, I dropped the bombs, it worked out great, but some moron had wondered into the zone. Burns over 90% of his body after I was finished. For some reason, I was discharged so fast I didn't know what happened. The crazy thing was the guy wasn't pressing charges or anything. I mean, he looked kinda … bored, just sittin' there with his cast, asking me to bring him beer and change the channel every now and then. Anyway, my options were try to join the Army or go back to the wife and parents. I hauled ass to the recruiting center. Somehow, they overlooked my crappy record and got me in there. And that's how I joined the Army."

"Aren't you their uncle?" Theron asked. He vaguely remembered Opal referring to him that way.

"Well, see, there were extenuating circumstances. Girls who worked at a club nearby were passing by my place all day, certain girls who call me Uncle, and I kinda thought they were more of the same and that they had promised to perform certain favors for protection."

"When I said we could help, I didn't mean that way!" Rubi said indignantly.

"I figured that out after I saw you two," Flavius said. "There was no need to point a gun at my head and threaten me. That was mostly uncalled for."

"You deserved it. Anyway, how about you, Theron? What was life like?" Rubi inquired, actually seeming curious about his lifestyle.

Theron just shrugged. His subconscious was still hiding his memory from him, but he knew he liked vampires and had another relative somewhere in this city.

"Let's get moving," Flavius said, glancing around again. "Mercy Hospital awaits."

The group jogged toward the exit, Rubi and Opal navigating through as though they knew the mall by heart. In minutes, they had found the exit and saw a horde of Infected far ahead that was just milling around.

"I'll get another car," Rubi said, running off with Opal into traffic while Theron and Flavius stood by the backdoor of the mall.

"So … is this Zoey chick hot?" Flavius asked.

"Lose the magazines?" Theron replied while he watched Rubi shatter the window of a minivan with her elbow and crawl in.

"Yeah."__


	16. Chapter 16

"You're avoiding the question," Flavius pointed out as they entered the pristine white minivan. Theron got into the trunk, ignored Flavius, and curled up, feeling exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. He quickly shook off the feeling. He'd gotten less sleep than this before and stayed awake for days before. That was only to watch vampire movies. In the apocalypse, something that actually mattered, weariness was something he couldn't afford. He didn't smell anything beyond the exhaust of the van, unfortunately.

"Leave him alone. He's tired." As could be expected, Opal came to his defense. He growled his appreciation and closed his eyes, intending to get a quick nap before they arrived at Mercy Hospital.

Not a second later, he heard the engine revving and the sickening crunch of bones as they plowed through a horde. Theron could hear them smash the windows, bounce off the hood, and howl as their limbs were crushed. The minivan shook as it rolled over Infected, the howls of agony causing Theron to shiver in discomfort. If he didn't know better, he could swear they sounded so similar to him. Almost like a chorus of wimpy Therons. The minivan continued, Infected dying all around him and the rest of the group shooting as they drove, Flavius especially. The Italian leaned out the window to get a better shot, not that he needed one. It seemed all he needed to do was aim in a direction and fire since they were surrounded. Theron halfheartedly stuck a claw out the window in the side and was rewarded with gore splattering his cheek as he counted victims.

_One, two, three, five, six … kill stealer._

"Tank!"

Theron immediately leapt up and pulled his hand back into the van, terrified and trying to mentally prepare himself for death by concrete.

A slab of concrete flew by the minivan, scraping off the doors on the left as it flew through the air to crush the Infected behind them. The minivan lurched to the side and Theron was flung against the window, his nose landing inches away from concrete that would have smeared his nose into a gory mess.

The minivan righted itself and continued speeding away, the scent of unwashed Infected, blood, and bile soaking rapidly into the leather interior. Amazing how fast a pristine white minivan could change to a bile-soaked, bloodstained, windowless machine with an engine that barely worked. The minivan seemed to roll forward more than anything else, but they could still hear the engine struggling.

The minivan jumped forward, the engine at full throttle again. The way to Mercy Hospital was clear now. Directly across a bridge with all the cars pushed to the edges, into the gas station to fuel up, and then to the hospital that was a fifteen minute walk. It should be simple.

Rubi flicked the headlights on and drove as fast as she could. Then a thump came from the roof of the minivan, followed by something akin to nails on a chalkboard as the claws of a rival Hunter dragged along the roof.

Flavius turned toward Theron and paled as he saw another piece of concrete fly at them. He pulled Theron forward just as it collided with the back of the minivan, propelling it forward and crushing the rear completely.

The minivan had arrived on the bridge and continued going, leaving the gargantuan horde behind them. Not nearly enough Infected lurked on the bridge to pose a threat, so the minivan sped across with almost no interference aside from the occasional crushed commoner. The horde behind them seemed to have actually forgotten about their presence, a stroke of luck none of them had counted on.

The gas station was straight ahead, only a few miles away. They blazed toward the end, lights on, nearly there, but suddenly the minivan slowed yet again, the engine failing.

"Witch!" Flavius shouted, turning off his flashlight. Too late. The headlights had infuriated her and she was running full speed directly at them, waving claws that Theron didn't have in his wildest Hunter dreams.

The engine kicked in again, but it was too late to be of any use. The Witch plunged her claws through the hood as if it wasn't even there and caught her claws in the engine.

The front of the minivan burst into flame, starting a small fire directly in front of Rubi. The entire group got out of the minivan and started to break into a jog for the gas station, ignoring the high-pitched shrieks coming from the horde miles away. Then the Witch howled in pain as her claws were crushed against something.

Theron turned around and surveyed the situation. The bridge must have been hiding a horde, judging by the amount of Infected running directly at him. The Witch was stuck to the burning minivan, her claws lodged somewhere they shouldn't be.

She was at least as young as he was, with better claws and eyes on top of it. Her raven black hair hadn't changed color, but her skin had turned the grayish color of most Witches. She was desperately attempting to pull herself out while weeping despairingly.

_Damn moral obligations._

Theron ran to help her, ignoring the cries from the group and his Hunter mind. He took a look at the hood before deciding that his own claws were too … wimpy to cut through. His Hunter mind begged to prove otherwise, but he was in a hurry and looked around for anything that could get through.

Crowbar? No. Brick? No. Broken rearview mirror? Definitely not. Fire axe?

It would do.

Theron grabbed the axe and aimed, doing his best to ignore the Witch's cries of fear. She was definitely intelligent, closing her eyes and remaining completely still seconds before he swung through the hood.

She still didn't open her beautiful crimson eyes, apparently fearing the worst and crying silently.

Theron threw the axe away, ran behind her, grabbed her waist, and pulled her out, falling flat on his back. He felt the Witch get off him and growl angrily. Theron pulled himself up, trying to ignore the bruises on his back. She didn't weigh much, but she was far stronger than her slender frame suggested. He would definitely have bruises.

The commoners surrounded them, growling and attempting to be threatening. The Witch seemed to back away, unsure of her power, but Theron wasn't fooled. The bravado was only due to strength in numbers. Once a few dozen were dead, they would break formation and run.

The first commoner ran toward Theron, swinging his arms as though he was in frenzy. It was unfocused, sloppy, and most of all, loud.

_Ha! Kill!_

_He's not even trying._

Theron ignored the punches, all of which missed him, and jammed a claw into the commoner's neck. The commoner instantly died, dropping like a rock.

_Something wrong?_

_Hunter senses are tingling, my friend._

Theron spun around to notice two things: another commoner Infected, a jock who used to beat him up in high school, was attacking. The recognition sparked a happy thought in Theron's mind, but it quickly diminished once he noticed the second thing.

The jock was swinging the fire axe.

The blunt end hit Theron, the precision put into aiming by a mere commoner fascinating. Theron felt his jaw shatter, heard the bones pop out of place and felt his teeth pierce his gum. He fell to the ground and laid there for a brief second. He'd fought off pain far worse than this. Being a Hunter was easily the most exquisitely painful thing on Earth. To feel the tips of his fingers crack and extend unnaturally, his incisor teeth pushed out of his gums to be replaced with vampire fangs and his muscles shifting and scraping against bone as his legs practically rearranged themselves.

Theron remembered his hands before the Infection. He already had long, slender fingers, with pristine elegantly manicured nails, perfectly suited to a pianist or artist. Zoey, despite their shared background, never really cared for displaying wealth in something as petty as nails. Now his fingers were long and almost alien with the joints in different places and his nails had blood almost permanently caked under them.

Surely if half a day of mental and physical pain that had refused him a second of solace, sleep, or survival, a simple axe across the jaw was nothing. He'd laugh at this later. The commoner hadn't even used the sharp end.

He stumbled back up, focused through the red color that overwhelmed everything else along with the ringing in his ears, and collapsed back onto the ground, feeling unconsciousness threaten again.

_Not again! Not this time, my friend. This time we kick unconsciousness's ass. Or something like that._

The Hunter mind didn't even listen, retreating to an inner sanctuary, leaving Theron to find a way out of this.

He struggled to rise again, using his hands to push himself from the concrete, but a commoner aimed a vicious kick toward his face. It missed his jaw, but a kick to the head was still painful, and Theron fell back down again. He saw that the Witch had been pinned down by roughly nine Infected who were still struggling to hold her still while trying to avoid her claws. The three dots by the gas station in the far distance were probably the survivors. His death wouldn't be in vain, at least. The horde would be probably be too preoccupied with him to find Flavius, Rubi, and Opal.

Commoners surrounded him, blocking his view of everything except the sky. Theron could see that the jock with the axe was approaching, shoving others out of the way just like he was used to back in the day. He stopped in front of Theron, sizing up his Hunter opponent and raising the axe up and behind his back. Theron looked into the jock's eyes. Was there a speck of recognition or a sadistic grin? He couldn't tell. Their eyes were as dead as his.

He decided to look at the sky before some commoner split his head open. The sun was going down, although his view was partially blocked. Zoey had always like sunsets. She seemed to take pleasure in the simple things in life: sunsets, friends, and zombies. She had insisted that they watch a sunset together once.

She had more or less dragged him from the couch to the outside patio of their old dorm and watched the sunset, her head resting on his shoulder. Theron had, in the typical male mindset, failed to find anything amazing about it, but Zoey was happy, and that was all that ultimately mattered.

_Good memories? More dreams?_

_I don't know. I wish they were memories._

The sun finally set, giving way to relative darkness and a few stars. The jock stretched, clearly taunting Theron and grinning now. The jock probably didn't recognize him, but was just happy to have a Hunter to kill.

Theron ignored it and looked toward the stars.

_Hey God, maybe you could help me out here?_

Theron didn't recall religion ever playing a big role in his life, so he wasn't surprised when nothing happened. Maybe bargaining would work.

_Can you please give me some kind of miracle here? I promise to go to church every Sunday and give up all alcohol._

The stars twinkled, giving Theron a speck of light. Could it have been a helicopter with the world's best sniper ready to save him somehow?

It wasn't.

The jock continued teasing Theron, using his axe to bruise the tips of his claws with light taps. His claws weren't going to be shattered, but his skin was already swelling.

_God, the deal is off. I'll make my own miracle. I now have a way._

The jock prepared to deliver the killing blow when Theron shivered in fear. The jock took a moment to mock him with another nasty grin, and that was all Theron needed.

The minivan finally exploded into a deafening fireball, shooting sharp shrapnel and fire everywhere. Theron saw the Infected crowd run, either on fire or with a piece of minivan poking out of their extremities as he pulled himself up. The crowd pinning the Witch down had been eliminated as well, but she was in no position to chase after the others. Some of the shrapnel had gone through her leg, creating a triangle pattern while she cried into her claws.

Theron looked toward the gas station, wondering if he could make the walk. The Witch definitely couldn't.

_Run! Run now!_

_I'm a gentleman, dammit! What do gentleman do in these situations, my friend? Think about that._

_No running?_

_We run, but we bring her._

Theron scooped the Witch up with his arm, making sure to keep his claws folded even though it cut his palm, and carried her on his shoulder. She stopped crying and seemed fall asleep, becoming limp with shallow breathing.

With that, Theron began to walk toward the gas station.

_**Author's Note: I can't believe I forgot to mention earlier. All original characters used here belong to me.**_

_**Man, this was a hard chapter to write. I completely revised this thing about eight times before I was happy with how it turned out.**_

_**Also, I would like to thank the reviewers. It is always appreciated to see that somebody enjoys this stuff.**_


	17. Chapter 17

Theron could feel his shoulder ache as he carried the Witch, still sleeping, toward the gas station. She was still crying and sniffling in her sleep, and having teardrops slide down his arm unnerved Theron for a reason he couldn't place.

After the longest fifteen minutes of his life, Theron managed to reach the gas station, amazed that he had been able to lose that much blood. He hadn't even known he had that much blood inside him. The trail was mainly made of drops, but it could still be followed to him if a commoner paid attention.

Theron shoved open the gas station door and saw that the group was already getting ready for an attack. Flavius was moving the junk food to one spot and Rubi was complaining loudly about the lack of Molotov cocktails, but Opal was nowhere to be seen.

"If you didn't care so much about the whiskey …"

"Rubi, the whiskey isn't going to waste just so you can avoid killing a few zombies your own damn self," Flavius responded, still stockpiling food.

"You're hopeless, you know that?"

"Now you sound just like one of my ex-wives. Are you going to start telling me to shower daily and not carry guns to the dinner table too?"

Rubi turned around, undoubtedly prepared to sulk, and noticed Theron standing in the doorway.

"Hey, you made it!" Rubi said excitedly. "Awesome! I knew you'd made it!"

_Then why do you sound so surprised?_

"Opal! Theron's back!"

Theron gently placed the Witch on the floor, kicking a nearby bottle away before he laid her down and collapsed backward himself a second later.

"She should be carrying you," Rubi joked. "Now let's see just how bad you are."

Theron could feel his shirt being pulled over his head roughly. He felt his jaw act up again and he writhed in pain, resisting the urge to clutch his jaw.

"You're just lucky none of your teeth were knocked loose. As for the rest of you, you look pretty bad. You've got bruises, gashes, scars, and gashes on your bruises and scars. I bet if I connected the bruises, I'd get a picture. Makes me wish I had a marker or something. You're just lucky none of these wounds are deep."

Rubi pushed Theron onto his chest to get a look at his back, this time doing her best to make sure his jaw wasn't moved.

"Nice tat." Theron flinched as Rubi traced her cold finger across his supposed tattoo. Judging by the way her finger moved, it was some kind of circular pattern, but other than that, he didn't remember getting a tattoo of anything.

"Flavius, come here and hold his head still."

Theron was jerked into a sitting position with Rubi looking into his eyes while Flavius had a grip on his head.

Rubi grabbed a medkit and opened it, showing Theron the contents. Lots of gauze, some kind of ointment, and a syringe full of what Theron suspected was morphine.

Rubi suddenly shoved Theron's jaw back into place, sending another burst of agony through his head. It seemed to take her forever to apply the gauze to him, although he was almost positive pain dulled his perception.

"There. That wasn't so bad, right?"

_Almost as bad as having it broken._

Theron blinked twice to try and convey his response somehow, but Rubi had already turned around, grabbed the syringe, found a vein, and emptied the contents into his bloodstream.

The feeling of numbness spread pretty slowly up Theron's arm, taking an agonizing thirteen seconds to spread to his fingers and elbow. Maybe one syringe hadn't been enough.

The feeling was chilly as well as numbing, and Theron could feel goosebumps forming on his arm as it spread. His left arm dropped, completely numb, while the feeling spread across the rest of him. His right arm took significantly shorter, only five seconds. Unfortunately, the Hunter mind panicked once both arms were numb.

The Hunter mind wasn't thinking clearly enough to form a coherent statement, opting for a terrified howl that gave Theron to get a headache.

_Shut up, please._

The howling didn't cease and the Hunter mind grew only more terrified, attempting to move the numb limbs. Theron tried to relax and ignore it, but the voice was in his own head and invaded his blurred thoughts, so that quickly proved impossible.

_Stop howling! Immediately if not sooner._

The Hunter mind responded with a dozen different retorts, all of them uttered at the same time and all of them involving being eaten alive by another Infected while unable to move. The force of the response startled Theron with the sheer intensity of the Hunter's belief. He probably couldn't talk it out of the fear this time.

Then the Hunter mind grew even more agitated once Theron's legs grew numb and relatively stiff. It lashed out in desperation, and suddenly Theron was standing up, flailing his arms wildly while keeping his legs from collapsing. His arms felt like they were pumped full of lead, heavy and unwieldy, a far cry from his usual agility.

_Stop moving! Stop!_

The Hunter mind, as suspected, didn't stop, continuing to flail uncontrollably, the claws coming too close to his own face. Theron could hear the hiss of his claws fly by his face.

His legs gave out and his arms collapsed on his numb face, the claws mercifully pointed upward, and breathed as quickly as possible. The Hunter mind seemed to have given up the fight to remain moving, but some of the former terror was still present.

_Calm down already! We have friends to protect us, so we'll live._

_Protect us?_

_Yes, that's what friends do. Watch football, get you beer, and make sure you don't die in the zombie apocalypse. Admittedly …_

_Doesn't protect me._

_Of course nobody protects you! You're me! Or inside of me. Or a figment of my desperate imagination. Or the start of MPD._

_Start of MPD?_

_Go to sleep._

Theron was relieved to find that the Hunter mind finally listened. Blessed silence finally broke out in his mind, granting him some measure of peace. It would have been nice if the survivors had stopped discussing explosives so he could get some rest, but as luck would have it, they didn't need to.

Theron could feel almost every muscle in his body spasm, nearly launching him off the floor as his legs shook, this time without Hunter interference. His arms flailed with even less precision than before and his claws were flexing too quickly. Oddly enough, his nerves were on fire and his skin felt like ice. It provided a nice counterbalance, making sure the pain was never more than a mild ache before vanishing. Compared to everything else, this was nothing. Theron's head was entirely numb, his eyes attempting to jump out of their sockets while his eyelids were closed. He could make out the outline of the survivors, all of them, gazing concernedly at him. Flavius, judging by the rough outline, was shaking his head and trying to restrain him without getting the claws, a near impossible task.

Theron could see darkness on the edge of his vision, but he ignored it. If he had overdosed, it would all be over soon. Besides, he had taken too many pain pills at the mall. He would be fine.

_Overdosed?_

The Hunter's response was slurred, and Theron could hear the drowsiness and fought to suppress a yawn while ignoring it and recalling an overdose he had witnessed in an apartment building. His memory finally seemed to be cooperating for once.

The man had shoulder-length ginger hair and freckles with not even the slightest hint of facial hair, which was odd, given that the man was at least in college. His face was heart-shaped and innocent, the only flaws being the scars on his neck. He was wearing a blue t-shirt with skinny jeans that only furthered the effeminate appearance he had. The man had a euphoric expression on his face as he writhed on the ground, the nearby filth accumulating on the relatively clean t-shirt. Theron had almost felt blessed to be in the presence of someone who could be that happy, the sense of joy diminished only by the needle still stuck in the man's neck and his head jerking in all directions, his hair obscuring his face. After some more writhing in pain, ecstasy, or both, the needle had eventually flown out of the man's neck, shattered against a wall, and rained glass on the ground. At that point, Theron had left, sparing a glance backward. All the writhing had stopped, the man obviously dead.

_What an odd memory._

_Odd?_

_What was I doing in an apartment building?_

Before the Hunter could respond, Theron passed out.


	18. Chapter 18

"Wakey wakey."

Theron could hear Flavius grip his shoulders gently and then take his pulse. Theron noticed he took an awfully short time doing so. Four seconds probably wasn't enough for an accurate measurement.

"He's fine."

"Great. Is he going to get up?"

Theron didn't want to wake up. Drug-induced unconsciousness wasn't nearly as restful as plain old unconsciousness or sleep.

"You want him up, Opal?"

"Sure."

"Wake up, dammit!" Flavius shouted into Theron's ear.

Theron bolted up, his ear ringing. The first thing he noticed was the absence of alcohol on Flavius. The man was actually sober for once. Despite the lack of whiskey, he seemed ecstatic. Rubi and Opal were carrying grocery bags on their backs and were busily unloading the contents in a corner while Flavius pulled Theron to his feet.

"Life is good, Theron. We have everything we need, man. You name it, we got it."

"Anything interesting happen?" Theron asked. He knew Flavius wasn't so happy just because they had the bare essentials.

"Ran into my ex-wife."

Theron was taken aback by that. Of all the people he encountered, he hadn't truly recognized any of them. He might have recalled seeing them in the past, but to see somebody he knew, even if he hated them, alive during the zombie apocalypse would have been great.

"How was she? What did she have to say to you?"

"She said 'rawrrr' and tried to eat my brains. Now I can finally say it was self-defense," Flavius laughed.

"Just a common Infected?"

"Yep. She swung into state to collect alimony and caught whatever this is. I tell you, you know your life sucks when you're collecting a fraction of forty grand. Plane tickets probably cost more than what she was getting."

"You only make forty grand?"

"When I'm not shooting people, I'm a waiter, alright? Anyway, this is cause for celebration, am I right? Take your pick of booze. We've got everything you could possibly want, even champagne. Personally, I despise the stuff. Tastes like bubbly astringent. That reminds me, I used to know a guy …"

"So you're celebrating the death of your ex-wife?"

"Well, that too. I'm celebrating paying less alimony, actually. More of my salary remaining in the pocket of the guy who earned it, not the vindictive bitch who divorced him after a bachelor party gone wrong. I can't be blamed for the enthusiasm of some people. I'm telling you, the army was pissed about that one. Commander didn't like the controversy and bludgeoning and my friends were just mad I didn't take pictures. That stuff is bad all around. You married?"

"Possibly," Theron growled, resisting the urge to restrain his head to prevent it from exploding.

"Take my advice. Stay engaged. It says 'I'm ready to spend my life with you, but not yet.' Makes everyone happy, really. So, how was your nap?

"Terrible."

"Blackout, huh? Or whatever you kids call overdoses these days. Hangover seems pretty universal to me. You were only out fourteen hours, though. Not too bad. I honestly didn't expect you to wake up."

Theron ignored most of what Flavius said as he rose to his feet, taking in the scents emanating from the nearby grocery bags. They finally had hamburgers!

All the toll the world had taken was temporarily by both Theron and the Hunter as they loped toward a bag. He pulled the hamburgers out, reveling in his temporary distraction from the world before realizing they probably didn't have a grill. A quick look around revealed their lack of both a grill and their Witchy companion.

"Where'd she go?" Theron asked Opal.

"I don't know. She was sleeping when we left."

"Where'd she go, Flavius?" Theron asked, swiveling around for the chance to interview Flavius before he decided to celebrate.

"Hey, I'm not an idiot's keeper. After we finished treating you, we fixed her up and left to find food. We came back and she was gone. Don't worry, she can't have gone far. We didn't manage to take out all the shrapnel. She's probably around. Now, get over here and help me drink. I can't celebrate this by myself."

"You didn't have a problem drinking by yourself earlier," Rubi pointed out.

"Yeah, but this is a celebration, and you won't drink, you wimp," Flavius accused, accentuating his statement by pointing his finger at Rubi.

"I'm not about to celebrate the death of some bimbo who had the misfortune to marry you!"

"It's the other way around, Rubi. The only thing I got out of that marriage was a deaf ear. That reminds me, Theron. Never trust women with explosives, especially fireworks. And then make sure you take them to the hospital with you. Don't take their word for it, drag them with, okay?"

"We're headed for a hospital," Theron pointed out.

"You're headed for a hospital," Flavius retorted. "I enjoy living, thank you very much. Not to mention hospitals don't allow smoking, drinking, or shooting patients, all of which I plan to do."

"Fine. Pass me a beer, won't you?"

"Alright, way to go, Theron! Just make sure you don't cough it on yourself again, you crazy Hunter."

"What are you talking about?"

Flavius pointed at Theron's shirt. A quick glance revealed that all the blood that had soaked into the shirt was obscured by bile. Thankfully, it wasn't from a Boomer, but it still messed up a perfectly good shirt.

"See, Opal thought it would be a good idea to feed you, what with the starving and all. Anyway, once you were fed three diet beers and a bag of potato chips, you seemed content, and then you puked it all up a few minutes later. Must've been the diet beer."

"Why is there blood covering the puke? Was I attacked while I was unconscious?"

"Actually, it came with the puke."

"Charming. I'm a carnivore, just so we're clear on that."

"Potato chips and diet beer don't do it for you?"

"If I was on a diet, I wouldn't be drinking beer."

"You just don't know how to have fun," Flavius said before spinning around. "Rubi, are you sure you won't be joining us in our drinking marvels?"

"Positive. Celebrating somebody's death is just rude, if nothing else."

"Fine, fine."

Flavius suddenly had an idea, even stopping the opening of his beer to convey it.

"I promised you a drinking game, didn't I, Theron?"

"You did."

"Rubi, you're cool with I Never?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Alright. Theron, you up for it?" Flavius asked, flashing a mischievous grin.

"I'm an amnesiac," Theron told him.

Contrary to what Theron expected, Flavius seemed happier than ever, practically bounding up and down with joy

"We'll help you restore your memory! That's perfect! After all, what are friends for, right?"

"You really think it's that simple?" Theron asked, skeptical that a mere drinking game could restore his memories.

"Absolutely. Stimuli will bring back memories or something like that. I read it somewhere. It'll be awesome."

"Let's play," Theron said, snatching a glass of box wine from the cooler Flavius had provided.

_**Author's Note: Yes, there will be actually be a drinking game in the next chapter. Sorry to spoil that for you.**_


	19. Chapter 19

Flavius snatched the box wine away from Theron before he could open it. "What're you doing, man? We're all having beer."

"Fine," Theron growled under his breath. With that, Flavius started passing out plastic cups.

"Alright, we just need a prize. I volunteer … this pristine, vintage, beautiful, awe-inspiring, godly, collector's edition hollow point bullet," Flavius said, placing the bullet down onto the floor with a thud. Theron noted the bullet was an average hollow point that had probably fallen in a can of paint. No manufacturer in their right mind would purposely paint bullets orange and pink.

"Theron, it's your turn," Flavius reminded him.

Theron looked around before remembering that he didn't own anything here. The rest of the group had rounded all this stuff up, so it was theirs to barter. Theron took off his combat boots and placed them next to the bullet. The boots might have been soaked in gore, but they hadn't let him down yet.

"I volunteer this leather jacket," Rubi said, laying the jacket down on the boots and the bullet. The jacket was black leather and too big for Rubi.

"Winner takes all," Flavius said, filling the cups sloppily before Theron or Rubi could protest. "Theron, you go first," Flavius claimed. "After all, we're helping you out with your amnesia here."

"I never … set my hair on fire," Theron started after a moment of thought. He wasn't surprised to see Flavius drink the contents of his cup.

"It wasn't the hair on my head, either," Flavius said, earning laughs from both Rubi and Opal.

"I never shot somebody before the Infection," Rubi offered, turning toward Theron to see if he remembered anything.

Theron's memory revealed that he had indeed shot somebody before. At point-blank range, no less. The man had been wearing a grey suit with a blue tie. He looked like a bouncer with a suit and sunglasses, gigantic frame and pecs like paving slabs doing him no good. The bullet flew directly through his chest, leaving a far bigger exit wound than entry and splattering blood on the wall. It must have a hollow point. The magnum the would-be bouncer had been holding went off as he hit the floor, causing the bullet to ricochet through the wall and shatter a glass. He vaguely remembered the man had drawn first. Theron noticed the background at last. Another apartment building, this one the lap of luxury with marble flooring, a penthouse view, and a balcony complete with a swimming pool.

Theron and Flavius emptied their cups simultaneously, Rubi seemingly amazed that Theron had shot somebody. Theron wouldn't have believed it himself if his memory hadn't showed him.

"I never got drunk and passed out in a garbage bin," Flavius offered, eyes scanning to see if either of them drank. "No? I've passed out pretty much everywhere but a garbage bin. Street corners, post offices, under bookshelves, cardboard boxes …"

"I never slapped my girlfriend," Theron offered, eager to find out more about Flavius. What better opportunity than I Never? To his surprise, Flavius didn't drink.

"Theron, I don't slap. Girls and pimps slap. Real men bludgeon."

"I never bludgeoned people I date," Rubi said, glaring at Flavius. This time, Flavius drank.

"I never made love with the lights on," Flavius said, earning dubious glares from the rest of the group. Theron was surprised to find that he had memories of that, the memory causing him to blush while he slowly drank from the cup to delay questions. Rubi in particular seemed ready to burst with them. The moment he finished, he fired off the first thought in his head other than the memory.

"I was never convicted," Theron said, watching as only Rubi took a drink, a blush coming to her cheeks.

"The one time I forget to lock the doors. Anyway, I never paid for sex," she said, not surprised when Flavius threw back his drink. Theron was relieved to find his memory didn't bring anything up.

"Well, I never stole jackets," Flavius said, chuckling as Rubi took a sip from her cup.

"I returned the jacket once I grew out of it, Flavius. It's the thought that counts, right? And you can't steal from the dead, anyway, so this one doesn't count."

"I never slept with my best friend's wife," Theron asked, watching as Flavius sighed and drank. "How'd that turn out?"

"I got a rash it took three different ointments to get rid of. Your turn, Rubi."

"I never had a one-night stand," she said, rolling her eyes as Flavius drank. Her expression eventually become shock as Theron drank.

"Theron? That's just low."

"Do I have to drink for every one-night stand or just once?" Flavius asked, stopping Rubi before she could berate Theron too much.

"I'm surrounded by degenerates," Rubi lamented, disdainfully eyeing the two men in the group.

"You probably can't spell degenerate," Flavius said. "I never punched any of my immediate family."

Theron tried to remember if he actually had any immediate family. His memory only revealed his mother and father, both of them far too imposing to hit. He was practically the mirror image of his father: tall with dark hair and light grey eyes. The most he could recall was that his parents were out of state, both of them extremely mad at him, but concerned nonetheless.

Rubi threw back her beer, suddenly very tipsy and giggly. "Opal totally deserved it, trust me, Theron."

"And you have the nerve to accuse me of being a bad person," Theron muttered. "I …

"We're out of beer," Flavius announced, drinking his cup. "We'll be playing with whiskey from here. It'll be over fast."

Theron sighed. "Whiskey it is. I never drank underage."

Rubi was laughing too hard to drink most of the whiskey, spilling most of it and falling backward and attempting to sleep all of a sudden, moaning contentedly. Flavius threw back the whiskey without blinking or flinching.

"I never tried to eat somebody."

Theron rolled his eyes and drank. "I never dated multiple women."

Flavius drank, refilling his cup almost instantaneously afterward. "I never failed a college course."

Theron was happy he didn't have to drink. "You haven't?"

"Never went to college."

"I should have guessed. I never harassed my former wives."

Flavius sighed and drank. "They started it. I swear, it's like they organize to make my life miserable. I never ripped out somebody's organs with my teeth."

Theron stared Flavius in the eye. "I use my claws. I never drunk dialed my ex."

Flavius sipped the whiskey before collapsing into a wheezing fit, coughing whiskey over the floor.

Theron reached for the jacket before Flavius interrupted him. "You need to finish your cup. It's I Never tradition."

Theron grabbed the cup and drank, feeling it burn his throat and blur his vision. Nothing out of the ordinary. Theron claimed his jacket, boots, and bullet, reveling in the feel of clothing that wasn't stained for a few seconds before nausea set in. Admittedly, the jacket was many sizes too big, but it was comfy. His stomach was already weak and protesting from his diet while unconscious.

He left Flavius and Rubi inside, stumbling around to the back of the gas station. The crowd of Infected had settled onto the highway, cramming themselves in tight. Theron found that the dumpsters were indeed in the back and walked up to the nearest one.

Once he opened it, he heard shivering right next to it.

_Kill!_

_Wait!_

Theron held his bile down and turned to see who was hiding to the side of the dumpster. The Witch had curled up nearby, probably to try and make use of a vent nearby. Her arms were covered with goosebumps and her teeth were chattering while she shivered. She took notice of him and stopped, simply staring.

"Why didn't you stay with the humans?" Theron asked, hoping she could understand English.

Her reply was to narrow her eyes and scowl toward the building. She definitely understood. She turned back and curled back up by the vent.

_Warm._

_True. But she needs it more than we do._

Theron took off his leather jacket, feeling the chill. The Witch must have been resilient to spend hours out here. He put the jacket around her shoulders, finding that she could practically use the jacket as a blanket. She curled up, attempting to keep her claws from slicing it open. Once she was comfy, she sighed contentedly.

_Did she smile at us?_

_Stupid human._

_Relax. We'll be fine in the gas station. She might not survive the night._

His good deed for the day completed, Theron sauntered back into the gas station and slept.


	20. Chapter 20

"You're right, Opal. From this angle, he could almost be cute."

"I know! He's like a little kitten!" Opal responded joyfully.

Theron ignored the sisters and tried to focus through his hangover. Sunlight was falling through the shattered windows and illuminating his face, but he didn't want to get up. If his eyes were closed, the world couldn't spin. If he didn't stand up, he couldn't collapse into a pile on the floor. It seemed like awfully good logic to him.

"Theron, we have food," Opal said in a sing-song voice.

"Way to warn him, Opal," Rubi said. Theron could feel her grab his hands, indeed curled up by his chest in a kitten-like fashion, and drag him away from his comfortable sleeping position.

Seconds later, he felt a fire burst into existence where he had been sleeping and the roasting of hamburgers.

_Food!_

_I know, I know. Let me drag myself up, my friend. Our head hurts, huh?_

_Yes, but … food!_

_Nice to know you're so determined._

Theron looked around, shaking his head to clear it. The world wasn't spinning yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

The little campfire had been assembled using a toilet seat to make sure the fire was contained, pieces of bricks from somewhere were arranged so it wouldn't spread too far, and a fishing pole to suspend the burgers a few millimeters over the fire. The fact that only gasoline and magazines were keeping the fire alive certainly wasn't reassuring, but Theron wasn't about to complain. It was great to have something warm to sleep by for once.

"Theron, don't make me wake you up," Flavius threatened. With that, Theron pulled himself up, inhaling the scent of charred burgers.

"Here you go," Flavius said, pulling a burning burger onto a paper plate and passing it to Theron along with a red plastic cup from last night that had been filled with the last of the whiskey. Theron blew out the burger and ate slowly, savoring not the taste, but the fact he had food. Warm, meaty, gasoline-flavored food.

"Before I forget, here's an aspirin," Flavius said, passing a pill to Theron. "Never let it be said that I don't plan ahead. Except for when it comes to bachelor parties. And marriages. Nobody can predict that stuff."

Theron devoured the burger and pill in seconds, washing it down with the remaining whiskey and licking his claws to get the last frozen chunky bits of burger off. "Is there more?"

"Sure. The last three burgers are yours. We're already kinda low on food, though," Flavius said as Theron snatched the burgers off and threw them on the plate. Before he knew it, Theron had wolfed down another burger, leaving only two.

_Hold on._

_Food!_

_There will be other burgers._

With that, Theron strolled out from the relatively warm gas station out into the cold. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was cloud-free, and it had evidently rained during the night, covering everything outside with dew. Still very cold, unfortunately. Theron made his way toward the back of the gas station while the Hunter figured out what he wanted to do.

_Witch?_

_She hasn't eaten in days, my friend. You can see her ribs!_

As Theron had guessed, the Hunter mind didn't care in the slightest. In fact, it was furious that he had even considering giving away food.

Theron felt the Hunter mind attempt to move his claws and force him to devour the food. Theron tried to calmly push his hands away from the burgers, dropping the plate onto the sidewalk as he struggled to keep his distance from the plate and check on the Witch. To anybody else, it would have looked like a seizure, but Theron, despite writhing on the sidewalk, managed to make it closer to the dumpsters where the Witch was hiding.

_Food! Food! Food!_

_We don't need it that badly. We have more food._

_Hamburger food!_

_Stop! Immediately if not sooner._

_Food! Please!_

It was the first time the Hunter had ever begged for anything. The change from ruthless predator to begging voice in the back of his mind was beyond unnerving. Was he just insane, period? Was it just a byproduct of so much pain earlier that his mind had fragmented, and he was stuck with this creature in his head for the rest of his hopefully short life? Was the Hunter part of his mind now so developed it was screwing with him in an attempt to distract him from whatever it really wanted? Theron chose the last option and pulled his willpower toward his arms.

The arms jerked and flopped about uselessly for another minute, but eventually Theron was back in control. His entire body was numb, but he had movement, so he slid the plate toward the dumpster, half expecting the Witch leap out from under the leather coat and snatch the burgers at lightning speed. If she noticed, she certainly didn't give any indication. The leather coat was slick with rain, but it didn't seem to have shrunk too much yet.

"Hello?" Theron crawled over to the coat, inhaling the air to see if the Witch had been wounded. The only blood in the area was coming from the burgers themselves. At least they had plenty of iron.

"Witch?" Theron asked. It felt incredibly impersonal to address her that way, but she hadn't offered her name. Theron unzipped the leather jacket to find that the Witch was missing. He blinked and rubbed his eyes with a knuckle to make sure. The Witch definitely wasn't here anymore.

_Food!_

Before he knew it, Theron leapt toward the plate of hamburgers. He impaled one on his claw, flipped it into the air, caught it in his mouth and swallowed it with a minimal amount of chewing. The Hunter mind didn't like chewing for reasons Theron would never understand. The last burger followed the first seconds later. The plate, not weighted down anymore, flew away on a breeze, gliding gracefully in the wind while Theron walked back toward the inside.

Once Theron arrived, he prepared to curl back into a comfortable position and sleep on a full stomach. He'd been denied that luxury this far, but no more.

"Theron! What the hell did you do?!"

As expected, Theron was swung into a sitting position by a very angry Flavius while the sisters tried to restrain him. All of them were shouting at once, Flavius making threats, Rubi threatening Flavius, and Opal yelling at both of them to calm down.

"I ought to beat your …"

"It's not his fault …"

"Maybe it ..."

_Be quiet!_

"Shut up!" Theron shouted, his brain evidently broadcasting whatever was on his mind. Silence came almost instantaneously as all the humans stopped bickering. "I'm going to sleep now."

"Theron, you goddamn glutton, where's the food?!" Flavius shouted, grabbing Theron by the shoulders and shaking. Theron's head lurched forward and backward aimlessly, bringing him from a peaceful reverie back to the world.

"What is the problem?" Theron asked once Flavius stopped shaking him.

"I bought ten pounds of bacon back. Do you have any idea how hard it is to carry ten goddamn pounds of bacon while you're swarmed by marathon runner zombies? Do you really, Theron?"

"What's the problem?" Theron asked again, losing patience.

"You ate all the food. That's our problem."

"I didn't," Theron replied.

"So why are we without food? Where do you think we'll find more food? We had to walk three miles just to bring back everything we drank last night. Who knows when our next meal will be?"

"What makes you think I ate the bacon?" Theron inquired. If Flavius had a grudge, he would find out.

"Actually, quite a few things. First, nobody else will eat raw bacon. Second, you were using the grocery bag the bacon came in as a blanket. Third, I found the bacon wrappers in the trash. They were ripped open by somebody with very sharp fingernails or, maybe, claws."

"All good points, but what about the Witch?" Theron reminded him.

"She left."

"She was sleeping by the dumpsters. You can't miss it. I left the leather jacket there."

"Don't change the subject. This is your fault. Either you ate it, or your guest ate it."

"I'll find more food, Flavius," Theron said, walking toward the door.

"I'll go with you," Rubi said, grabbing her Uzi and medkit off a counter.

"Like hell you will, little girl," Flavius said, blocking the entrance to the door. "You're not leaving the safety of this gas station."

"What if I offered you this?" Rubi said, reaching under the cash register on a nearby counter and pulling out a dusty magazine. Under the thick layer of dust, the word Penthouse could barely be seen.

"How did you get that?" Flavius asked, amazed that a thorough military search of the gas station hadn't revealed it.

"Do you want the magazine or not?" Rubi asked, flinging it into a corner. If Flavius wanted it, he would have to leave the doorway.

The group could almost envision the gears in his mind churning. What was more important to Flavius? His desire to see the people he had survived the apocalypse with safe, or his desire to see scantily clad women?

"You two have fun out there," Flavius said, dashing for the corner while Rubi and Theron proceeded out.


	21. Chapter 21

"Theron? You okay?" Rubi asked.

_If I had kept a closer eye on her, this wouldn't have happened. Why did I have to take her with me?! I could have just saved her life, but no, being the idiot I am, I brought her with me!_

_Bad Witch._

_Thanks for telling me information I already know! What was I thinking?_

_Wasn't thinking._

_Do you have anything positive to contribute?!_

_Cute._

_Thanks, I suppose._

_Witch._

"Theron?"

"Yes?" Theron responded hesitantly.

"Don't take Flavius seriously. He's just being a drama queen. I'm positive we didn't take that much bacon, so relax, alright?"

"Sure."

"Do you ever speak in sentences longer than one word?"

"Sure."

"If you say so, Theron. I trust you."

Theron was actually surprised by that. Somebody trusted him. Admittedly, that somebody was a juvenile delinquent who could steal cars and pick locks while she did her make-up, but the apocalypse reduced his choices drastically.

"Thanks, Rubi," Theron replied, trying not to let amazement get into his voice. She was probably just trying to reassure him. He certainly didn't trust any of them. Maybe it was just the Hunter mind rubbing off on him, but he didn't feel much kinship to them.

"So, what's the plan? How are we going to take care of zombies if they get too close?" Rubi asked, scanning the area around. Aside from the gargantuan horde on the bridge that only grew larger, the area seemed devoid of life. Theron could smell all the commoners crowded on the bridge, cramped together with the dead bodies. If they kept their distance, they would be fine, but if they got too close, it was over.

"You deal with the tougher ones. I'll take care of the commoners," Theron murmured, keeping his eyes on the commoners in the front of the bridge. They were too busy fighting over territory to notice them as they sprinted across the street.

Theron and Rubi hurried into an alleyway just across from the gas station, taking a good look at their surroundings. The walls were covered in gang graffiti and blood, the windows were covered by steel bars, and the doors looked like they were held together with spit and glue. They were safe from the horde on the bridge behind them, but being silent was still preferable.

"So what's the plan?" Theron whispered.

"Find bacon. It's about as simple as it gets."

"That easy?"

"Nobody said it was easy. Simple, yes. Easy, not so much. First, we have to survive the trek to the grocery store. Assuming we even make it, it should be filled with zombies and probably devoid of bacon. Then we'll have to hike to another grocery store or go back home. Either way is over six miles while dodging zombies, trying to remember the right way, and probably getting lost multiple times."

"Fantastic," Theron muttered sarcastically. "Why not just take a car?"

"The streets have too much traffic. If we had a motorcycle or something, we could totally drive past them, but I don't see one."

"Just drive on the sidewalk with a car. It's not too hard."

"That's actually a good idea. If we get crushed to death by something, I'm blaming you, though. Which car do you like?" Rubi asked, indicating to the parking lot in front of them.

Theron didn't have many choices. Most of the cars were either on the street behind them by the horde on the bridge or crashed into a wall. He had his choice of a minivan, limo, or another minivan.

"Let's take the limo," Theron suggested. If nothing else, the limo probably had drinks. It would be harder to maneuver, but the length would be useful if the Infected came too close.

Rubi shrugged and ran toward the limo, Theron on her heel and scanning for any hidden threats. It looked entirely safe. Too safe. No way in hell the zombie apocalypse was just going to let them drive a limo to a grocery store. With their luck, a Tank would materialize out of nowhere and bludgeon them to death, then pile-drive their corpses just to be safe.

_Bludgeon?_

_You have access to my memories. Isn't there a dictionary somewhere in there?_

_Dictionary?_

_Tank smash. Simple enough for you?  
_"It's open," Rubi announced, sliding herself into the driver's seat while Theron leapt over the vehicle onto the other side and let himself in. If anyone else had been with him, he would have insisted on driving.

"Just take it nice and …"

Before Theron could finish his warning, Rubi had already slammed the gas pedal to the floor, resulting in the limo leaping over the parking space and onto the cramped street. Theron was thrown forward, not having time to put his seatbelt on and leaving a small dent in the windshield.

"Stupid limo," he heard Rubi grumble quietly as she continued driving and scraping several cars along the way. Theron took the opportunity to put on his seatbelt and watch for stores.

Most Infected simply bounced off the vehicle and fell, but the few unlucky enough to block the way were hit by the front of the vehicle, rolled under, and were crushed again by the rear tires seconds later. Despite that, the limo didn't bounce off the ground nearly as much as Theron expected. Considering all the bumps, the limo had a good suspension system. From there, the commoners gathered that it wasn't the best idea to throw themselves in front. Luckily, Rubi was going too fast for most of them to even notice. Commoners would feel the wind from the limo, turn around, and look perplexed when they noticed nothing behind them. The limo flew down the sidewalk, Rubi hitting Infected, plowing through benches, and knocking down stop signs. The special Infected hadn't appeared yet, but what could they do?

While Theron was busy fearing for his life, Rubi was screaming her brains out in a combination of terror and happiness. The environment was a blur, flying by twisted and abstract. The sidewalk seemed to drag on forever in a straight line, mostly devoid of Infected.

After a few minutes of driving that made Theron imbed his claws in the dashboard simply because the seatbelt wasn't enough, they arrived at what appeared to be a grocery store, the limo stopping directly in front of the sliding doors.

"Go on, get the food," Rubi said, shooing Theron out of the limo's passenger seat while Theron pulled his claws out, taking bits of dashboard with him and strolling toward the doors and admiring the place.

The store itself was in great condition. Plenty of edible human food, but nothing to tempt a Hunter's palate. At least not at first glance. The few Infected who chose to remain here were milling about aimlessly, occasionally knocking over displays and searching for food. They all paused to note Theron's presence, but went back to ignoring him seconds later.

_Move?_

_Absolutely. Let's find the food and leave. This feels like a trap._

_Good trap?_

_Not really. There's nowhere to hide. Let's hurry so Rubi doesn't have to wait too long._

Theron moved toward the sign displaying a special on crab legs and was about to shove his way through the crowd when a howl came from somewhere within the mass of commoners. Another Hunter must have been hiding here.

_Attack now?_

_This can't be solved that simply. We're outnumbered._

The Hunter mind had to content itself with unleashing frustration with a hiss at the nearest commoner. If the commoner noticed, she didn't give any indication, not even turning her head. Theron noticed a flicker of movement in the crowd of shuffling commoners, a flash that seemed to be gone as quickly as it appeared. Then again, the crowd itself was a good hiding place. Theron could almost feel some of the commoners glaring at him, determining the best time to attack.

_Run?_

_If they get too close for comfort, why not? Let's get some bacon._

Theron shoved the commoner out of his way, dodging when the commoner swung a punch at his skull. Theron raked his claw across the commoner's face, ending the fight as the commoner retreated to a safe distance and hissing through the pain. The rest of the crowd seemed to note the pain inflicted and took a few steps back themselves, most of them not bothering at petty intimidation attempts. Theron ran through while the crowd still offered space, ending up at the counter in seconds.

_Scaring?_

_Scaring people works. I doubt we did any permanent damage. At least we didn't have to wait in a line. This apocalypse has a silver lining._

The dishes behind the display counters were devoid of any seafood whatsoever, unfortunately. Theron wasn't too worried yet, though. There was probably some more in a freezer.

Vaulting over the counter and checking the steel doors marked 'Employees Only' had resulted in an empty freezer. The packages nearby were ripped open and empty. The seafood was gone. Theron left the room and scanned for another counter. Upon vaulting over the counter, the crowd automatically cleared the way. The other counters looked just as empty as the first. Theron knew a search of the freezers would yield the same result. It was time to move on to the next place.

Theron walked toward the limo to find that the driver's side was open and Rubi was standing, gazing out into the parking lot.

Theron sprinted toward her to see what the problem was. One quick glance showed him that they had been followed. Infected blocked the exits, sniffing about curiously. It was only a matter of time until they found them.

"Let's take the limo out of here," Theron murmured under his breath, keeping an eye out for any sneakiness.

"Screw the limo. Check that out," Rubi said. Theron followed her stare to a pristine lime-green sports car on the lot in front of them. Even the rich with poor taste hadn't made it out of the city. Aside from being lime-green, the car had golden spinning rims, light purple tinted windows, and racing flames just above the tires.

"There are Infected by the car, Rubi."

"You'll protect me."

"I'll try."

"Good enough for me. You get them away from the car and we can make this run about five minutes."

With that, Theron crouched down and growled, getting a feel for pouncing. The wind conditions were nonexistent and the sun was down. Perfect for leaping.

One pounce took Theron from his position through the air while his Hunter mind practically forced him to scream bloody murder. It almost scared him that he considered screeching as he glided through the air normal. Then again, normal back in the day meant taking classes in college. If he remembered correctly, his family was rich enough for him to not work a day in his life. The zombie apocalypse had ruined that plan, though.

His pounce carried him halfway to the car, allowing him to land on a bus and inspect the amount of commoners. It wasn't close to the exits, so only eight commoners and a fellow Hunter surrounded the vehicle. The commoners didn't seem to notice anything amiss, but the Hunter was searching frantically, spinning on his heel to try and locate the noise. They dressed oddly for a Hunter: red hoodie, biker shorts, and tennis shoes.

_Kill quickly?_

_Can you stop thinking about killing for one minute? Just herd them away from the car. Intimidation, remember?_

Theron's next silent pounce carried him from his perch toward the Hunter. He would never see it coming.

Theron landed on the Hunter, knocking the breath out of him and pinning to the ground. Theron raised his claws only to find the Hunter didn't assist him. When humans were pinned down, his primal Hunter mind was happy to assume the role and rip the human to shreds, gore and organs flying like bloody confetti unless, of course, he simply fed on the victim while he pinned them down. When fellow Infected were involved, the human part of Theron was forced to do the dirty work.

Jamming one claw through the cheek was enough to get the pinned Hunter to hiss, refusing to scream but still dripping gore across the light red jacket. The commoners, unfortunately, took no notice.

Theron moved the claw up toward the ear, drawing a low howl that the commoners still took no notice of.

Finally, Theron ripped the claw out with a pop, blood suddenly leaping from the wound and staining the ground around him. This time, the howl was deafening, catching the attention of the commoners nearby and causing them to retreat to a safe distance.

"Rubi!" Theron shouted, beckoning her over with a bloodstained claw seconds before slitting the Hunter's throat. Rubi sprinted toward the car, pulling a lockpick out of her pocket as she ran.

Rubi was there in seconds, working the pick and reassuring herself while Theron guarded her.

Any fear the commoners had of Theron paled in comparison with their hunger. The commoners reversed direction, running directly at Rubi.

One of them leapt before Theron impaled it on his claws and flung it to the floor. He barely spun around in time to send a kick that shattered the kneecap of Rubi's next assailant. Another spin ended up taking out an attacker's eye. Another kick, this time to the skull of a commoner, send it stumbling backward.

"It's open!" Rubi shouted, opening the door and getting herself inside.

Theron slide across the hood of the car, not noticing until it was too late.

The Boomer waiting on the other side of the vehicle attempted to punch Theron, only managing to knock him back. Theron flailed while falling, scratching the Boomer as he fell backward. One tiny scratch across the stomach.

The Boomer detonated, covering the windows of the car with bile and blinding Theron. He managed to find his way to the car, wrench open the door, and push himself inside.

As usual, Rubi drove like she had a deathwish, plowing over the commoners while they pounded on the car windows. In seconds, the car had accelerated up to ninety miles, easily escaping the horde behind them. Considering the fact that most of the windshield was covered in bile, Rubi was driving pretty well.

"Where are we going?!" Theron shouted over the wind, shaking his arms to get off the puke.

"Mall!" Rubi answered, keeping her eyes on the road. "Should be a nice entrance up ahead!"

"How far?"

"Few miles!" Going 120 mph, it wouldn't take too long for them to find it. Through the obscured windshield, Theron could already see it. It was a gargantuan shopping center that was made up of most of the surrounding area. They had already passed multiple stores, so the parking lot should have been nearby.

_We might just make it, my friend._

"Tank!" Rubi shouted, turning the wheel a few degrees. Theron felt his head smash against the window, a piece of glass slicing his ear.

The Tank's swing missed the sports car by inches, the giant fist taking off a rearview mirror as they passed. Instead of the parking lot, Rubi was now headed toward the windows leading down. The window was designed for shoppers to look up outside or for passerby to look down on shoppers. Provided the sports car survived the twenty foot drop, they should be fine.

In the split second before they drove through the glass, Theron noticed what was probably the world's most elaborate bike rack blocking the way. They would be colliding with steel instead of glass. Steel bolted into the ground.

Before he could ponder that, the 140 mph collision launched the two of them out of the windshield, through the mall windows, and twenty feet onto the floor below.


End file.
